The First Time
by Razzmatazzy
Summary: A collection of one-shots that detail Cloud and Tifa's 'first time' moments in their long relationship. Hopefully in chronological order! Readers encouraged to submit ideas. Cloud's POV.
1. I Ever Saw You

_(Author's Note: No one else has done a fic like this, as least to my knowledge, so I decided to embark on it myself. This fic will detail all the 'first time' moments of Cloud and Tifa's relationship. This first chapter is of when they very first meet each other. It will all be written from Cloud's POV, thus the way the titles are named. If any of you readers out there have and idea that would fit in here, please send me a PM or a review and I'll do my best to write it up! Please feel free to comment, and enjoy!)  
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**I Ever Saw You**

Cloud didn't want to go to pre-school. It wasn't because he was scared - no way, he was the bravest person in the whole world! He simply worried that his mother would get into trouble if he was away too long. With no father to help around the house, Cloud took it upon himself to make sure his mother never felt lonely or didn't dust after she swept and prevented a myriad other little misfortunes that would have happened if not for him.

At least, so the fussy little four-year-old believed.

But trying to explain all this to a mother that only smiles gently at his very passionate, stumbling speech is difficult. Especially since after each long and well thought out reason, she'd only smile lovingly, tousle his spiky hair and say, "You're going anyway."

For the first time in his young life, Cloud was tempted to throw a tantrum. He'd never actually went through one before but had seen other kids in the violent, writhing, screaming fits. It had immediately disgusted him, even though he was the same age - he'd heard other parents talking about how strangely 'mature' he was for his age, whatever that meant. Tantrums were a waste of time, from what he could tell. Time he could be using to look after his mother!

They were all each other had, his mother and him. He had no friends to speak of and, quite frankly, didn't see the need to make any. As long as him and mom stuck together, they'd be okay.

Alas, he was the only one that thought so. The next morning, his mother took him by the hand, and walked him to his very first day of pre-school. Cloud hid his consuming worry for his mother by fuming the entire way, refusing to say a single word.

Other parents were walking their children to their first day of school as well; Nibelhiem was such a small town that everything was easily within walking distance. Cloud watched one couple and their child, all smiles and laughter, the child between them, holding their hands.

"One... two... three! Weeeee!" They all chanted together and on 'three' the mother and father lifted their little boy up and swung him from their tightly clasped hands. The boy laughed and squealed with delight, thrilled at the human swing his parents made for him.

Cloud had never experienced that thrill before and knew he never would. Of the seven kids going to pre-school, only one of them didn't have a father. His cheeks filled with hot shame and he shuffled closer to his mother, tightening his grip on her hand. She squeezed back comfortingly and smiled down at him. "Nervous?"

No, not nervous. Scared. Scared of what would happen to her if he let her out of his sight for a minute, let alone a whole day! But he couldn't say that - he had to be brave like she was always encouraging him to be, especially when food prices rose during winter, and so he swallowed and shook his head a firm 'no'.

"Cloud..." The chiding look on her face told him she hadn't been foold by his swift denial. Mothers were too perceptive sometimes. So he conceded and shrugged one shoulder.

"Just a little, momma."

Her smile widened and she swung their clasped hands playfully. "Don't worry, sweety. You'll be fine. You'll make so many friends you won't even notice the time going by."

He seriously doubted that, but he said nothing. Best not to let her worry - that was his job, not hers.

The school was small and had the same rustic, country-mountain architecture that every building had in Nibelhiem. The teacher was a slim young woman with a big smile and dark hair. Cloud was too busy watching the other kids run around screaming and playing to hear what his mother said in quiet undertones to the teacher. He fought the urge to throw his arms around his mother's waist protectively. So many screaming kids... how was he supposed to go charging into that roughhousing mass without a care when Mom would be spending all day alone! Without him to watch after her!

His worried train of thought was derailed when the pretty teacher crouched in front of him. Her smile was dazzling and kind and Cloud unconsciously moved a half step closer to his mother.

"Hey there," the teacher said. "I'm Ms. Morrey. What's your name?"

"...Cloud."

"First day of school, Cloud?"

He had the sudden feeling that this woman wasn't smart and considered telling her as much. Instead, he merely nodded.

"Feeling a little scared?" Her tone was nerve-gratingly patronizing.

He shrugged.

"Well, we spend the first day just getting to know each other. No boring stuff, I promise! So why don't you go have fun?"

Cloud looked up to his mother for approval and to make sure she would be okay.

Ms. Strife grinned and knelt next to him. "It's okay, honey. I'll be fine." She gave him a big hug and a kiss on the forehead before standing up. "Go on. Look, I think I see a chocobo over there!"

Excitement flared in him. Chocobo? Where! He loved chocobos! When he grew up, he was going to be a chocobo farmer. One of his neighbors had an uncle that was a chocobo farmer and he was always richly dressed, bearing extravagant gifts for his extended family. The kids went wild over his golden chocobo every year when he came to visit.

Cloud wanted to be rich and respected when he was older. That way, Mom wouldn't get worried, like she did at how fast he wore out his second-hand clothes, or tell him to be brave and make do when their table was meagerly supplied with thin bread and day-old eggs.

His young blue eyes scanned the room and instantly fixed on the life-sized stuffed chocobo across the room. With a gleeful grin on his face, he raced across the room and flung his arms around it jealously, before anyone else could claim it. He needn't have worried though - the others were all busy playing tag. For a few minutes, he tried to climb onto the chocobo's back - it would be important for him to know how to mount a real chocobo if he ever wanted to be a good chocobo farmer. After a few slips that deposited him on the floor and a couple of seconds wildly flailing his legs to find some purchase, he had hauled himself on top of the stuffed chocobo.

Triumphant, he sat astride it and looked across the room to see his mother's approving smile.

But... she wasn't smiling at him. She wasn't even looking at him. She was leaving! Once again the worry for her washed over him, pushing away all child-like fun. She couldn't go! Not without him to watch over her!

He tumbled ungracefully off the chocobo and raced for her retreating back.

Halfway across the room, something slammed into him at high-speed, sending him tumbling head over heels across the carpet. He lay face down on the floor, gasping, stunned by the collision.

Mom! He had to stop her!

He pushed himself up... or tried to, at least. Something was lying on top of him. He thrashed a bit and the thing that pinned him down rolled off him. He sprang to his feet, craning his neck to see his mother. She was nowhere in sight.

"Hey! Why don't you watch where you're going!" a young voice scolded him. A small finger poked him hard in the back, between his shoulder blades.

Cloud turned and faced a small girl roughly his age with long brown hair and brown eyes glowering at him. She wore a pink T-shirt covered with butterflies and crisp denim shorts that looked brand new. She looked vaguely familiar for some reason.

Before he could say anything, another small boy ran up behind her and tapped her shoulder, squeaking "You're It!" before dashing off at high speed.

"Not fair! I was on time out!" The girl tried to tag him back but he was gone too quickly. Frowning, she turned her glare back on Cloud and stamped her foot cutely. "Now I'm It because you tripped me!"

"I-I'm sorry..." He hadn't meant to stammer but her face softened.

"You okay?"

Swallowing, he nodded. He wasn't used to such familiar conversation. His mother said it was just shyness, but it felt a lot more than that. Without her around to hide behind, he felt incredibly vulnerable.

"Hey, you're Cloud right?"

He blinked at her, too surprised that she knew his name to feel shy. "Yeah."

"I'm Tifa." It sounded familiar. He'd heard the name in passing, probably from his mother.

Tifa rolled her eyes at his puzzled expression. "I live next door to you."

"Oh... um, hi." He shyly offered his hand as his mother had taught him.

She grabbed his hand and shook it with both of hers, threatening to yank his shoulder out. Then she grabbed a handful of his hair and gently pulled his head down so she could inspect it. It felt incredibly awkward. She laughed and let go of him, allowing him to straighten. "You have funny hair!"

Cloud could only stare at her in amazement. This girl was overwhelming him with her straightforward, familiar attitude. The air around her nearly hummed with her energy and exuberance.

Grinning, Tifa pushed him hard with both hands, knocking him on his butt again. "You're It!" she squeaked and dashed away.

She stopped a few feet away when he hadn't gotten up to follow her. "Well?" she shouted. "You have to chase us!"

Cloud swallowed, suddenly realizing that all the kids were watching him expectantly. "I do?"

"Well duuuh! That's the game! Come on!"

He'd never played tag before but... well, what could it hurt? He stood and jogged after her.

Laughing she zipped away from him, lightning fast. "You're too slooooow!"

Now that sounded more like a challenge. He ran after her again and once more she evaded him, laughing and looking back at him with bright eyes. Before he knew it, he was thoroughly lost in the game of tag, doing his best to chase Tifa down but she always managed to slip by. Finally, when he accidentally brushed one of the other kids with the back of his hand, he was rid of the 'It' status and had to run once again.

They took a break once, to eat a snack. It was one of the few moments when the classroom was quiet and they all had to stand up and introduce themselves before eating. Cloud felt his face grow hot when he stood up and mumbled his name. Tifa practically shouted her name to the whole world. Everything she did seemed to catch him off-balance.

It was refreshing, like a breath of fresh air away from the old-fashioned ways of Nibelheim where men didn't say much and girls only wore skirts. All the stifling, old-world ways were utterly lost on Tifa, and he found himself being fascinated by her casual disregard for all the unwritten rules that had made him and his mother social outcasts.

While they ate their animal crackers, he noticed for the first time that Tifa was only one of four other girls in the room. The other five were all boys, counting him. The girls sat at another table, clutching their dolls and sipping their juice quietly.

Only Tifa sat with the boys, just as loud and energetic and brash as they were. As he watched, she whacked a boy upside the head with a teddy bear when he tried to steal one of her animal crackers. The boy was startled by her off-handed dissuasion of cracker-theft, and they all laughed at his expression.

Afterward, Cloud once more retired to his chocobo mount to watch the others. They all seemed content to let him sit up there but it annoyed Tifa that he'd just sit there and not join in on the fun. Every now and then she'd stop in her energetic playtime and stand in front of the chocobo, looking up at him.

"Are you gonna play?"

He shrugged.

"Why don't you talk?"

He shrugged again. "I dunno."

"You're hair looks like a chocobo!"

And then she'd go dashing off again as the others caught up with her.

Truth was, he had tried to play with some of the others but they always pushed him or slammed into him if Tifa wasn't looking. She'd scolded another boy for doing it once right in front of her and so they took care not to do it where she might see. They all liked her too.

He knew why they did it. No one could have missed the lonely pair he and his mother made on their way to the school. He didn't have a father. His mother wasn't married. And because of that, many of other boys made it clear that he wasn't welcome. Those that didn't outright repel him did nothing because they didn't want to be targeted with him. Not having a father was a very bad thing.

Except Tifa didn't seem to care. To her, he was just another playmate, willing to be pummeled, trampled on, pushed around and screamed at all in the name of roaring good fun. While the other girls played quietly in the corner with their dolls and teacups, she went racing around the room, getting carpet burn on her knees and having a grand ol' time, completely unafraid of playing with the boys.

He'd never known a girl like her before. She had captured his fascination entirely.

When his mother finally came home to pick him up, all he could talk about was the girl that lived next door and how she'd dragged him into the others' play, and how she had said his hair looked like a chocobo. The next day, he was all too eager to go to school, almost dragged his mother there by her hand in his excitement to see that girl that was so different from the others.

Though he didn't know it then, decades later he'd know her protectiveness toward him that day stemmed from her genuine kind nature. She couldn't bear to see anyone being bullied or shunned. Though neither of them would know it for many years to come, she had effectively captured his heart in that first day.

**xXxXx**

While his hardships and misfortunes had drastically transformed Cloud from that shy, blushing child into the battle-hardened warrior he was now, Tifa had barely changed. She was still that incredible, energetic, kind and beautiful person he'd known when he first met her. She was just as supportive and generous and brimming with life as she had been growing up.

She was his savior. She always had been.

And, Cloud thought with a small smile as she pushed him onto the bed, her lips locked with his, she was still completely unafraid of playing with the boys.


	2. You Caught Me Staring

_(Author's Note: Here's the second chapter, and a new step in Cloud and Tifa's relationship! Credit for the idea behind this one goes to **CK - Ace**. Thanks for the review! This one's for you! Remember folks, the more ideas you give, the more chapters this will have. Give me something to write!)  
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**...You Caught Me Staring**

The other kids were playing by the water tower. As a piece of playground equipment, it was entirely unsafe. It had bolts. Metal beams. Splinters from the wooden platform sprinkled the anyone standing below. It dripped water. It smelled slightly musty. And it always had a tendency to groan ominously under heavy winds. Any safety officer that saw it and the children swarming around the base would start frothing at the mouth in sheer horror.

But as a solid structure that was conveniently placed within eye-shot of every household window (and the watchful mothers behind them) that could also stand up to the abuse of mountain weather and child play, it was perfect. There was some unexplainable appeal to the shadowy, cool dank under the water tower that somehow had a taste of adventure to it, albeit with a slightly musty undertone. But that's why you didn't breath too hard under there anyway.

That water tower had stood strong and unmoving as it witnessed countless battles, life-and-death struggles, innumerable dragons slaughtered and wicked kings overthrown, all of which went through a rotation a few times a week. All the children loved playing on and around that old water tower and could almost always be found scampering around it in whatever drama happened to be taking place that day.

Except for Cloud, that is.

He seldom went outside and played with the others. More often, he was to be found making small forts out of twigs and stones by himself while the others romped in good fun. Child's play was no place for a fatherless outcast. Play could be, in fact, quite dangerous, especially when involving the young hearts and capricious minds of children. So Cloud played smart and safe.

And alone.

Today however, Cloud wasn't entertaining himself outside with yet another elaborate fort. Today, he was indulging in his most recent pastime: Watching Tifa.

It wasn't like he was doing anything _creepy._ People watching is actually considered a viable past-time in the big cities and some will even insist that its a sport, of a kind. It was perfectly legal and natural to simply observe the most infinitely varying and fascinating human animal.

Not that the blond five-year-old knew anything about that. All he knew was that he liked Tifa... and so did everyone else. And therein lie the problem.

He couldn't get close to her. The others made it a point of shutting him out of their play and especially shutting down all his attempts to get near Tifa. They knew he liked her and they didn't want anymore competition than they already had between the four of them.

Tifa, for her part, didn't even know about the others' calculated and jealous plan against him. They went to great lengths to make sure they did nothing too overt, lest she catch them and soundly scold them for it. Maybe even tackle them and put worms in their hair until they apologized.

Seriously. She'd done it once already.

It was one of the things about her that he found so amazing, that he liked about her so much.

Tifa wouldn't allow _any_ form of petty cruelty be committed around her. And if the perpetrators wouldn't stop at her behest, she could _make_ them stop.

Unfortunately, she couldn't stop what she didn't see. So the silent campaign to keep Cloud away from her continued with great success. Tifa always turned that thousand-watt smile on him when he could get close enough, but sadly those occasions were few and far in between.

So Cloud settled for the next best thing: Watching.

He knelt in front of his bedroom window on the second floor of the small house he shared with his mother. The only thing that kept his nose from pressing against the glass was a pair of old military binoculars his mother said had belonged to his father. The binoculars were old and worn, the textured plastic worn smooth by countless years of use, the glass slightly yellowed. But they still worked fine, slightly creaking with a rustic kind of military hardiness when he adjusted the focus.

The glass lenses were currently trained on Tifa, newly turned five years old a week ago. She wore a pair of torn blue-jeans - ideal for playtime - and a green shirt that had a crowned frog on it. She sat on the water-tower platform, a horrifying six feet off the ground, and brandished her cardboard tube sword.

She didn't just wave it around in the air like a kid trying to scratch the sky with a crayon. She actually _brandished_ it, flicking the tip of her weapon through the air with delicate movements of her wrist, a natural grace and elegance she didn't have to pretend to have. A boy clambered up the wide supports of the tower, and Tifa gave challenge to the intruder. Cloud couldn't hear what she said, but he'd seen enough of these dramas to have a good idea.

"You won't get the prince!" she shouted, whirling the tube in her hand. The boy attempted to copy Tifa's move, but his brandishing almost made him clumsily drop the weapon. Tifa graciously allowed him to get a good grip on his weapon before engaging him in combat.

Cloud grinned, eyes glued to the drama unfolding before him. Sitting on the top of the squat tower itself, hundreds of gallons sloshing beneath him, the youngest boy in town watched the female paladin defend him with her life, an estatic grin on his face.

Tifa never played the role of helpless damsel, if she could help it. Where was the fun in that? No, she much preferred protecting those that _actually_ needed the protection, and Tommy was perfect for such a role.

"Ha!" Tifa cried, whacking the boy across the belly with the tube. "Back, evil doer!"

The boy appropriately gasped and collapsed on the ledge, his body limp, letting his cardboard tube dangle from his hand, before falling to the ground below.

Cloud loved watching her when she was like this. Her cheeks were faintly flushed from the exertion of play and her big, dark eyes glittered with energy and sheer joy. She fairly hummed with the vibrancy of life that wasn't to be found anywhere else in the stuffy old town.

Tifa flipped her glossy hair imperiously, sheathing the tube in a nonexistent scabbard and turned... just as one of the two boys sneaking up behind her lightly struck her left arm. Tifa gasped and - as the rules of the game dictated - she tucked her arm behind her back. The tube appeared in her hand like magic and she struck out against her attackers. It was of no use - she couldn't take them both on while trapped on the ledge, with no safe way to back up. This wouldn't end well. "Run, prince!" she shouted. "I'll hold them off!"

Tommy vanished from sight and reappeared a moment later, descending the ladder with speed and dexterity that would make a monkey envious. He zipped toward the front door of the modest, small-town store, which had been designated the safe zone.

An older boy dashed toward Tommy from his hiding spot behind some trashcans. Tifa gave voice to a victory cry as one of the two facing her went down, mortally wounded by a thrust to the belly.

The boy pursuing Tommy swung his cardboard sword wide but Tifa had been teaching the younger boy a few tricks, and the kid rolled underneath it easily. Tommy sprang to his feet and was on the move while the older boy was still trying to figure out where Tommy had gone.

Tifa yelled in defeat, dramatically collapsing to her knees and dropping her weapon, just as Tommy sprinted to the store and slapped a hand on the door, panting heavily and grinning from ear to ear.

Cloud stood up, holding his breath, the binoculars trained on Tifa's still, lifeless form.

"We won!" Tommy cheered once he had enough breath.

Tifa sprang to life, laughing. "That's five out of seven!" The boy that struck her down a few seconds ago bent over and helped her to her feet. She stood on the ledge, feet spread, arms akimbo. "Let's go again!"

A chorus of "Awww, Tifa," answered her from the others.

"Let's play something else," said one boy, Ryan. "You're too good at this one."

Tifa made a face at them and muttered something under her breath that Cloud couldn't make out.

Then her dark eyes flicked up to his bedroom window and looked right at him, watching her with his binoculars. A small, knowing smile touched her lips.

Oh crap.

She saw him!

He froze for a second, his heart not even beating as a million thoughts went racing through his head (should he wave? Smile back? Keep watching? Pan the binoculars like he'd just been watching everyone and not just her? Oh crap, ohcrapohcrapohcrap!) and finally settled for the most obvious one - hide.

Cloud dropped to the floor, almost braining himself with the binoculars as he hit the deck like a true veteran. He pressed his cheek to the floor, heart racing and breathing hard from the adrenaline rush.

"Cloud?" His mother's voice drifted from upstairs. "What was that noise?"

He winced, hating to do anything that might otherwise indicate that he was even in the room for the past three hours, but he had to answer. "N-nothing!"

"Alright..." She didn't sound convinced, but didn't push the matter.

After a few moments, Cloud allowed himself to breathe. He rolled onto his back and laughed a little, low and nervous. She'd seen him. She'd caught him staring at her through those clunky army binoculars. And she had smiled.

Wait... had she really smiled? He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hands to them. The image of that small, knowing smile on Tifa's face flashed past his eyes in perfect clarity. She had to have seen him. But she just smiled. Did that mean she didn't mind? That she thought he was funny? That she was flattered?

Or maybe it meant that she was onto him and if he did anything more than watch her, she'd kick his butt so badly, he wouldn't be able to sit for a week. Cloud gulped. He didn't doubt that she could do it, too.

For the second time that day, he held his breath, ears straining. He couldn't hear anything from outside but a distant rumble of thunder. Had the others started playing again? What was going on?

Maybe he should check. Just a quick peek, nothing too obvious. Not like he was going to keep watching or anything. Just... act cool. Right. He crawled over to his door and stood up, well out of sight of the window. Acting as nonchalantly as he could, he strolled over to the window like nothing had happened.

Yup. Nothing going on here. He totally had not been standing in the window and staring at Tifa for the past three hours. No way.

He lost his nerve halfway across the room. Licking suddenly dry lips, he got down on his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way.

Very, very slowly, he peeked over the window ledge, blue eyes automatically going to where they'd last seen Tifa...

...To find her sitting on the ledge, legs crossed at the ankles and swinging below her freely while she twirled her cardboard tube.

And she was still looking up at him, a wide grin on her face.

Cloud flinched so hard, his forehead hit the window sill.

"Ow!" He slapped a hand to his head as he fell back on his carpet. "Ow ow ow!" Okay, yeah, that really smarted. He spent the next few moments berating himself.

Way to be graceful, Cloud.

Great way to give a good impression. There's no way she'd think he was a freak now. _Way_ cool moves there.

While he rubbed his aching forehead and congratulated himself on being very suave, he heard the raised voices of several parents, all of them calling for their children to get in the house, _right now._ Another rumble of thunder came on the heels of the commands. Cloud risked another peek out the window just in time to see the other kids scattering, dashing toward their respective homes.

Storms in Nibelheim were always the same: Long and hard. It never rained, it poured. Thunder never growled, it roared. Mountain towns were small and tough because they had to be, just like the people that lived in them. No one let themselves be caught out in a storm, not if they couldn't absolutely help it.

Playtime was over.

He sighed and pulled the strap for the binoculars over his head, tossing them onto his bed. He was about to turn away from the window when something caught his eye. He leaned closer, squinting through the gathering gloom.

It was Tifa's cardboard tube, falling from the wooden ledge on the water tower to the ground. As he watched, it rolled a short ways before stopping in a low spot.

He glanced up at the dark clouds overhead. The tube would be nothing more than a soggy mess if left to the gentle mercies of the storm. Cloud straightened up, frowning, and ran his hands through his unruly mop of spikes.

"It's just a cardboard tube," he muttered.

Yeah, sure it was. All the kids had one and didn't worry about it when the slender tubes were destroyed or lost. The store owner, Mr. McHuge, gave them out freely - they came with the packaging of goods and supplies that came through every month. Even Cloud had two, practicing with them behind the house in private, preparing for the day when he'd join in their game by besting them at it. He'd gone through several of the things himself, in his practicing. The loss of a cardboard tube was no loss.

But it was Tifa's cardboard tube. She'd even painted a little flower on it to identify it as hers.

The image of her standing contemptuously over her fallen opponent came back to him. He recalled vividly the way she'd flipped her hair over her shoulder imperiously, truly brandishing her weapon with ease.

Never mind that Tifa would just go to the Mr. McHugh and get a new one tomorrow. What would a paladin be without a proper weapon?

Cloud went downstairs, acting with his usual calm and poise as if there was nothing going on. His mother stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled absolutely delicious while she hummed a song in her low, beautiful voice.

Good. She was distracted. He should be able to get out and return the tube before she ever noticed he was gone.

He ghosted over to the door and put a hand on the knob.

"Where are you going, sweety?"

It's true, you know. Mothers _do_ have eyes on the back of their head. Either that, or they have psychic powers, like in the movies. He wasn't quite sure yet. Probably both.

He turned his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. She was still gliding around the kitchen, preparing dinner effortlessly. She glanced at him with her own rich blue eyes, and arched a delicate golden eyebrow. "Hmmm?"

"I forgot something outside. I'm just going to get it."

She nodded. "Just be back before the storm hits, okay?"

"Okay."

She turned back to the stew, humming something low and sweet.

Cloud slipped outside and jogged over to the forgotten tube, looking forlorn and dismal in the shadow of the tower. He picked it up and walked over to Tifa's house, right next door to his, taking his time about it. As he walked, he ran his hands down the length of the tube. It had the soft, almost fuzzy feel to it that cardboard gets from lots of handling. Soft, almost.

He judged it to be perfect for her.

Cloud knocked on the door. There were faint sounds for a few seconds, then the door opened, and Mrs. Lockhart stood in the doorway. She blinked at him for a moment, surprised, then smiled at him. Suddenly, he knew where Tifa had gotten her dazzling smile. "Hello there, Cloud! Did your mom need more eggs?"

Cloud frowned slightly. He didn't know anything about eggs. They had been eating pretty well lately... had mom been borrowing that food?

He shook his head, both as answer to Ms. Lockhart's question, and to rid himself of the unsettling thought. "Um, no thank you, Mrs. Lockhart. Tifa forgot this outside." He held up the tube.

"Oh, why thank you so much for saving it for her." She took the tube from him with gentle fingers. "Tifa's washing up for dinner, but I'll tell her you brought it for her."

"Thanks. Um..." Cloud paused, fingers knotting in the hem of his shirt.

Mrs. Lockhart's smile grew. "I'll tell her you said hi."

He sighed, visibly relaxing. "Thanks. I, um, should go back home."

"Okay." She started closing the door. "Good to see you again, Cloud."

Cloud shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked back to his house. Halfway there, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he turned around, looking up at Tifa's bedroom window.

Tifa hit the floor with as much speed and grace as he had earlier, dropping flat after a frozen second of panic. Her elbow must've hit the telescope she'd been using to watch him because it swung at a crazy angle, pointing directly at garden below. Tifa did not reappear.

He smiled and started walking again. When he had a hand on doorknob of his house, he once more looked directly at her window. This time, only a flash of movement gave her away as she ducked her head down again.

Grinning, Cloud went inside and fairly skipped up to his room in his joy. Once there, he retrieved the two cardboard tubes he kept hidden under his bed and started practicing with them fiercely. Soon, very soon, he would join in their game. He wouldn't put it off any longer. All the doubts that had plagued him, prevented from making his move, were gone, banished by one simple truth.

The whole time he'd been watching her, all the months and weeks and hours each day... she'd been watching back.


	3. I Ever Fought For You

_(Author's Note: So, sorry about the delay in the update! Last schoolweek crunch, you know how it is. But here's the next chapter, as promised delivered in the first week of May. I always thought that Cloud's issues with him not being a good enough hero for Tifa had come from a very strong, early memory, one that would set the stage for his promise to be her protector later on. Here is my interpretation of what that event may have been. Also, ever wonder why Cloud was so naturally good with a sword in Crises Core? Maybe this can be a [slightly cheesy] explanation why. I hope you all enjoy!)_

**...I Ever Fought For You**

It was a hot and dusty June day, and the kids were playing their usual game of 'Protect the Princess'. Tifa, being the only girl willing to truly roughhouse with the boys, had the unsavory position of being the princess. This meant she had to sit on the water tower platform and watch while the others had fun.

It went without saying that this wasn't her most favorite of games. She sat on the platform, sighing and fiddling with her own cardboard tube and watched the drama play out before her. And what a drama it was.

The heroic battle had gotten derailed somewhere along the way. Currently, Ryan, Johnny and Eric were all loudly arguing over who had actually landed a blow. Little Tommy was too small for these games and so he wasn't present. The argument had been going on for some time now and Tifa would occasionally shout something down to the rest of them but they always ignored her and would be getting in each others faces again.

"You're a cheater!"

"No I'm not, you're just stupid because you can't admit you lost!"

"Liar! You dumb, cheating jerk!"

"_You're_ a dumb, cheating jerk!"

And so on. They'd been at it for nearly a half hour now and a few times the cardboard tubes had come into play but not very seriously. Mothers could be watching, after all. Above it all, Tifa sighed and looked like she was very much in need of rescue from this boredom.

The boys fell silent when Cloud stepped out of the shadows of his house, two cardboard tubes in his hands. For the first time that day, Tifa perked up, excited. The argument was rapidly abandoned and an ominous silence fell over the square. The other boys glared at him with open dislike. United against this common enemy, they subtly shifted to form a line between him and the water tower. Between him and Tifa.

Tension grew thick, heavy in the hot, muggy air. Cloud risked glancing away for them for a second to lock eyes on Tifa. That smile is one he would never tire of.

Then he turned his eyes back to the others. They glared at him, daring him to make a move, but Ryan looked little nervous. He should be - he once caught Cloud practicing his speed on a tree behind his house once. Of the three of them, only Ryan knows what's coming. And not even then.

He never saw what else Cloud was doing.

A soft gust of wind blows through the town, a biting mountain edge to it even this far in the summer.

As if that was the signal they'd all been waiting for, they all exploded into action at once.

Cloud dashed forward, his cardboard swords at the ready. He blocked one vicious overhead chop from Johnny and whipped his other sword across his belly, making the taller boy stumble.

Then Ryan and Eric were one him at the same time, their swords making sinister whistling sounds as they whipped through the air.

Cloud deflected Ryan's attack and rammed his free sword into the boy's belly twice, then reversed the attack to slash at Eric, who jumped back in time to avoid getting hit, but his wrist got a solid smack, leaving a red mark.

The boys fell away, wary. They hadn't expected him to move that fast. Now they circled, reassessing.

Eric moved and Cloud reacted. Eric had four more blows on his arms before he knew what hit him.

It felt natural to move this fast, to be in control. He liked the feeling of swords in his hands, the precision and slightly dangerous edge of anticipation. Above all, he loved getting a chance to fight back at those that had made his life a miserable hell.

Perhaps it was a sign of things to come.

Cloud's arms whipped the swords with ease, one two, one two, and Eric was falling back, desperately trying to deflect his attack. All he got were a lot of red marks on his arms and he finally fell tripped over his own feet, raising his hands above his head in defeat, tears in his eyes. "Okay, okay!" he cried in a wavery voice.

So tempting. So tempting to just bring both swords down on his stupid red face and _get back_ for all the suffering he'd given Cloud. Eric would certainly not hesitate if Cloud were in the same position. Cloud's hand's twitched in an abortive attempt to do just that... but he didn't.

Tifa was watching his every move. If there was one thing he wanted to make clear, it was that he wasn't one of them. He was better then them. For her. Because of her.

He turned away from Eric and met a cardboard tube with his face. It hurt. Tears sprang to his eyes and he stumbled back a few steps, shaking the stars from his vision. He skipped back a few steps, swords up defensively but the other two don't press the advantage. Tifa sat five feet above their heads, looking anxious.

All they have to do is keep him away from Tifa. That's the unspoken rule. He can't win if they don't let him get near the prize they all desire.

Determination flashes through him and he narrowed his blue eyes at Johnny. The boy is smirking and there's a large dent in the side of his tube. He was the one that hit him just as he was turning, the cheating bastard.

This was personal.

They close again and for a long while it's nothing but hack and slash and dodge and spin. They're pressing him hard and the dust is getting in his mouth, like sandpaper. Cloud whirled away from Johnny only to be met by Ryan. He jumped back, slashing madly, and received a sharp, stinging blow on the back of his arm from the other one. Blows have been traded for a while now but the others have only getting it from one kid while he's been getting it from three - two, now that Eric dropped out, but that didn't count for much. What they lacked in numbers Johnny made up for in viciousness.

As the fight goes on, the other two are getting smarter. Every time they come too close, they earn a smart one-two strike from Cloud, hard enough to bring tears to their eyes. Ryan almost quit once but Johnny kicked him hard enough to make him decide the was more afraid of Johnny than he was of Cloud. But now they refused to ever get close enough with the avenging blond, just lunging at him and giving him stinging blows with the ends of their weapon and leaping back.

A sharp sensation in the small of his back makes Cloud jump and spin around, one sword already lashing out for retribution. He just manages to catch Johnny's wrist with it but the boy had already retreated, out of range of any more attacks. Cloud snarled at him and decided to teach him a lesson but Ryan came back and brought his sword against Cloud's ribs. Cloud whacked Ryan on the back of the head, making the kid stumble and he can already hear Johnny closing in. He skipped out of their reach and they all paused to take a breath.

The whole time they'd managed to keep Cloud from reaching the water tower. They had their backs to the structure now, Tifa's feet dangling above them, but he hadn't managed to break through.

Their dodge and swipe tactic is working too good - they're wearing him down and in this heat he can't keep such an careful offensive for long. They don't have to beat him - they just have to make him quit.

Tired. He was so tired and every part of his body was stinging from the constant rain of blows he'd endured, fighting to gain an inch. Some scratches on his arms had begun to bleed and the dust and sweat made them sting almost beyond enduring.

Tired. All he'd like right now is some cool water and shade. His mother would loving apply band-aids to the deepest scratches and would kiss his forehead and hum something soothing while he just rested, letting all the aches fade away.

Cool water and shade... rest...

Cloud shook his head. No. He came here to win. He glared at Johnny and raised his swords, reversing the grip on one so it lay against the length of his arm. "Let's go," he rasps, his throat dry. The other two blink in surprise - it's the first time he's spoken since the fight began.

They wouldn't come near, so he decided to do them a favor. He dashed up to Ryan and _whack whack whack_, he was down before he could do more than fetch Cloud a blow on the shoulder. Ryan fell, stunned, but that wouldn't last long. He had to move fast with the time he'd bought.

He turned to Johnny and this time he managed to block the back-stabbing blow to his face with the reversed sword. Johnny gaped, clearly not expecting such an easy block.

Cloud smirked. Then his other sword went into action, _WHACK WHACK WHACK_ hard, solid blows against Johnny's midsection that echoed in the town square. Cloud managed to land three more before Johnny grabbed Cloud by his shirt, spun around, and let Cloud fly.

As he sailed through the air, Cloud could only think, _Well I didn't expect that._

He landed with a grunt, skidding to a halt on the worn cobbles.

Pain! Tears sprang to his eyes and for a second he just lay there, his skin screaming at him that it had been torn and burned on the rock and it hurt like mad bastard. He must have hit his head or something because there were black, flashing stars in his vision, actually rather fascinating and kinda pretty.

Johnny looms in his vision all of the sudden, a triumphant sneer plastered on his face. "We don't like you," he snarled. "Stay away from us and stay away from Tifa!" The last was said in a growl, low enough so Tifa wouldn't hear.

Cloud could only stare at him, still too dazed by the throw to shoot something back at the bigger boy. Defiance took too much energy and coordination. All he could do was lay there and try to get feeling back in his lungs.

But it wasn't enough. Johnny had to take it a step further and he brought his sword down on Cloud's stomach with both hands, as hard as he could. Cloud groaned and curled up in a ball, in too much pain to do much else. Dimly, from somewhere far off, he could hear Johnny walking away and Tifa shouting with that familiar heat in her voice that meant someone is going to really Get It.

It felt like time had slowed to a crawl as he moved his head. Johnny was walking away, his tube clenched in his fist as he shouted at Ryan, who looked sheepish. Cloud's gaze dragged across the area, over the storefront with the green and red letters in the window and over the white walls of the hotel. The wooden struts of the water tower crept into his vision next, dark and sturdy, the inside faces growing lichen, and finally a pair of shoes enters the scene, dangling above the cobbles. His eyes slowly tracked up the legs, the jean shorts, and a pink shirt with cartoon ladybugs on it and finally, his eyes locked with Tifa's.

Johnny must've seen the alarm in Ryan's face because he whirled around before Cloud had fully straightened up, both his weapons ready for battle. The taller blond grinned evilly, more than happy to beat down the challenger again.

Cloud glared at him so coldly, Johnny's smile faltered. Slowly, with lethal clarity, Cloud raised one sword and pointed it right at Johnny. "You," he said, voice anything but weak. "I'm not done yet."

Johnny abruptly looked uncertain.

Then Cloud arrived.

It was all Johnny could do to scramble backward, pitifully trying to block as Cloud came at him like a vengeance from hell. The two swords slapped and stabbed and slashed at every possible opening, never letting up for a second, and very soon Johnny had a score of scrapes and red welts that just promised to form bruises. Johnny cried out helplessly as his heel collided with a broken cobblestone and he went down, arms flung up to protect him. "Alright! Stop!"

Cloud stopped just as he was about to bring a sword down on the boy. Johnny peered at him from between his arms, sniffing a little, his eyes red. Cloud turned to Ryan, who'd been watching the whole scene play out in stupefied amazement. His sword was still held up for action, utterly forgotten as he watched his leader get soundly beaten.

Suddenly, he realized that a pair of piercing blue eyes are trained on him.

Cloud made a sudden movement and Ryan squeaked, dropping the sword and skittering back several feet in the time it took to blink.

Cloud carefully kept control of his expression. Knights don't smirk at the fallen dragon when they rescued the princess. Heroes didn't sneer at the defeated villain. Heroes are always more concerned about the people they rescued than with personal victory.

He wanted to make sure Tifa saw him as a hero. Her hero.

Cloud stalked over to the ladder and dropped both his swords. When he climbed the ladder, he took his time, doing his best to look like the heroes in comic books and cartoons - always noble, always dignified, always cool, calm, and collected. But he couldn't help wonder if those heroes ever had to deal with problems like a pounding heart, sweaty palms and a suddenly dry mouth.

The grin Tifa wore made all the aches and sores and weariness vanish and his chest swelled with pride as he went up to her. He sat down next to her, feet dangling over the edge, doing his best to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. It's been so long since he'd managed to get this close to her that he can feel the shyness coming up again. "I'm here to rescue you," he blurted out.

Tifa giggled. "Thanks! I _really_ needed to be saved!" And they both know what she means. Boredom is a prison of its own.

Cloud can feel himself grinning - it's hard not to grin when sitting next to Tifa. She's the only person besides his mother that made him feel comfortable, like he belonged. It was natural to be happy around her; it always had been.

Tifa, encouraged by his smile, sat up a bit, her dark eyes bright with excitement. "That was _so cool!_" she said, then started laughing. It was a bright, cheerful laugh that rang with through the mountain town.

He couldn't help it. He started laughing too. All he could do was watch her, totally enthralled as she weakly pantomimed something he'd done, laughing too hard to describe. It felt so wonderful there, with Tifa and the warm sun on his face and laughter bubbling up, rich and sweet, from somewhere deep inside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this, just for laughter's sake.

That's when something grabbed his feet and yanked, _hard_. He was too shocked to realize what was happening until he hit the ground with a thud, knocking the wind out of him. He stared up at the bottom of Tifa's shoes woozily, gasping weakly.

"Now!" someone shouted and his vision was filled with cardboard tubes, all coming down on him with the full, petulant power of six-year-old hate. One of the tubes hit him in the face and a cry of pain burst from him as agony lanced through his nose. Spreading warm washed down his face and he tasted blood on his lips. He curled up into a ball as the other boys went at him viciously, their weapons raining blow after savage blow on him.

It hurt. It hurt more than anything he'd known before, more than the time he'd accidentally stepped on a rusty nail. It hurt more than watching his mother's stiff, proud back as the other grown-ups shot her nasty looks at the store. As the beating wen on, he could vaguely hear Tifa screaming at the top of her lungs. From between his arms, he caught a glimpse of her going full out with her own cardboard tube at the backs of the boys beating him, but they ignored her, focused on taking out their humiliation and hatred on him.

Suddenly, adults were everywhere, shouting and snatching up their children, voices hard and angry. Cloud stayed curled up on the ground, still expecting the next barrage of abuse when his mother's gentle voice made him open his eyes.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked, smoothing his hair back from his eyes. He could only shake his head and she hugged him close, kissing his hair and murmuring soft reassurances, rocking him slightly.

Though he did his best to hold them in, tears of pain ran down his face and blood dripped from his nose and lip. He hugged his mother, welcoming the comfort.

Then, off to the side, he saw Tifa looking at him, her brown eyes warm and sad.

No. He didn't want her to see how weak he truly was.

He tore himself way from his mother and ran, chin tucked to his chest to hide the blood and tears. He ran, ignoring the shouts from his mother and Tifa and everyone else, ran until he found his secret hiding place in the rocks behind his house. Then he collapsed, sobbing and cursing that Tifa had seen him fail, had seen him so weak; that she'd seen him for the false hero he was. He stayed there long after dark until his mother found him, still hating his own weakness and failure, cursing himself for just not being good enough.

Perhaps it was a sign of things to come.

_(My deepest thanks and love to Lartovio, DarthMittens, CK - Ace, ffangelwing, kerapal bubbles, .PyR, Kurosaki girl 0890, The Beginning of Talent, Juliet's Replacement, WishingDreamer5, LatteJazz, Strifegirl, Bmonti and anyone else I may have forgotten to mention. It's because of your wonderful reviews and support that I continue to write and that is a debt I can never fully repay. Thank you.)_


	4. You Baked Cookies For Me

_(Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! I wanted this up much earlier, but Cloud was being difficult to work with. Let me tell ya, being popular AND a writer doesn't mix well. This month has been crazy busy hell. Anyway, I hope I didn't keep all my precious readers too much in suspense! I wrote ahead a few chapters though, farther down the timeline, so don't be mad! I was still working! ._

_Love and cookies for ElvenAngelMayCry, my soul twin and beta reader. Also, I put in a few sneaky allusions to the game at the end of this chapter. Cookies to those that can find and figure them out!)_

**...You Baked Cookies For Me**

Cloud stared morosely at the little twig and pebble fort he'd made. The hours had gone slowly by as he played in front of his house with nothing else to do. He'd thrown away the cardboard tubes and never asked for replacements. He didn't want to play that game anymore.

Even though the incident had happened several months ago, it was still fresh in his memory. The shame, the worthlessness, the pity in Tifa's eyes...

Cloud's eyes narrowed and with a slap of his hand, he shattered the fort, sending pebbles and twigs flying. The outburst didn't help the heavy feeling in his chest, though, and now all he had was a ruined fort and burning eyes. No one was around to see him but he hid his face anyway, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face against them with his arms wrapped around them, just in case.

Maybe it wouldn't make a difference to Tifa or the townspeople anymore, but being strong always mattered to _him._ He would be strong. Not like his dad, who'd left his family behind. That's what he wanted to prove to everyone - that he wouldn't be like his vanished father. He'd be the one that would always be there when needed, someone that everybody could depend on.

His dad was just one big _nothing._ Nothing but broken promises and a lonely house. Cloud was going to be the opposite. He was going to show everyone that he was not like his dad, who'd made him and his mom social outcasts. No, he'd become someone that everybody would want to be like and look up to and be in awe of everything he did...

He'd be a hero.

Heroes always get the girl they like, don't they?

Except, he knew he'd ruined the all-important first impression in that stupid fight with the others. He'd been too eager to show Tifa how much better than the others he was, how much better than his family - or rather, the lack of it - would have led her to believe. Instead, he'd made a big mistake and that's all Tifa and the others would think of him now, just as one big _mistake_, like his dad and his family...

Cloud squeezed his arms around his head even tighter. Maybe he'd blown his chance already, maybe they all didn't care and Tifa never cared, but it still mattered to _him..._

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and he jerked his face out of the safe prison of his arms to blink up at the person above him.

Tifa, grinned down at him. "Hey, you want some cookies?"

Cloud froze. He'd been avoiding Tifa like the plague ever since the swordfight almost a year ago and now she had caught him in his weakest moment since then. Why was she always seeing him at his most pathetic? She'd approached him a number of times but he always ran away or made an excuse to leave.

Tifa's grin dipped as she noticed his red eyes and stricken expression. Then her smile turned up to the full wattage like she hadn't even noticed and Cloud felt a bittersweet pang somewhere in his chest at the kindness she gave so effortlessly. "I helped my mom make them and I made too many. Want some?"

Cloud swallowed, grateful for the mountain wind that dried what tears had managed to squeeze past his guard. All he wanted to do when Tifa was around was crawl under a rock and hope she didn't pry it up - which she would do anyways. That was just Tifa for you and in a way he was glad for that. Just not glad for it right now. The beginnings of an excuse was on his lips when the gentle but firm words of his mother floated up to him.

_"Always be polite, Cloud. Being polite costs nothing but rudeness always comes with too high a price."_

If he refused, it'd hurt his mother. He wanted to be better than that for her. More importantly, it would crush that infectious grin on Tifa's face and that would hurt _him_ even worse.

And besides, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had homemade cookies. His mouth watered at the very thought, the trials and wounds of being a social outcast for once subdued by a seven-year-old's sweet tooth.

So, Cloud licked his lips and said, shyly, "Um, sure."

"Great!" Tifa began to skip away then stopped, like she'd forgotten something. She came back to where Cloud was still sitting and unraveled one of his arms from around his knees. "Well, come on!"

Reluctantly, he let himself be pulled up and over to her house, framed by the bright orange and yellow blooms of the flower garden her mother tended.

Cloud had never been in her house before and something like awe came over him as Tifa dragged him inside. "Mom! Cloud is here for some cookies!"

Tifa's house was just like her - clean and perfect. It was classic Nibelheim through and through, down to the scrubbed blue tile and the exposed wooden beams in the ceiling. Directly across from the door, beyond the modest foyer, was the kitchen. Laying a hot tray of cookies on the stove, Mrs. Lockhart smiled at the two.

Suddenly, Cloud knew exactly where Tifa had gotten her smile from.

"Good to see you again, Cloud."

Cloud blushed and rubbed the back of his head. "Hi, Mrs. Lockhart."

"Can he have some cookies, mom?" Tifa asked, not one to be distracted by introductions.

"After you two wash your hands."

Tifa sighed, a long, exasperated sigh that only a six-year-old can possibly manage and dragged Cloud over to the sink. She let go of his hand and he stood there, his cheeks filling with fire, as she dragged a handmade stool over to the sink. When he didn't move, she hauled him up onto it next to her so they could both wash their hands.

Cloud followed her example and got soap from the funny, plastic frog dispenser that and a little rubbing produced a lather that smelled nice. He jerked a little when a few drops of water landed on his shirt and face. Looking over, he saw Tifa give him a mischievous grin and she slapped her hand through the running stream of water from the faucet, sprinkling him again.

Cloud grinned and slapped the water back and she laughed. Soon, they were both splashing each other with harmless little droplets and Cloud had quite forgotten about his past worries. Right now, the most important thing was splashing Tifa.

Tifa was winning their little game when Mrs. Lockhart reached over and turned the faucet off. "Alright you two, they're clean. Dry your hands."

With a good-natured grin, Tifa quickly dried her hands on a towel with duckies on it and jumped off the stool. Cloud followed suit and joined Tifa at the table, also handmade. Mr. Lockhart was a carpenter and samples of his skill were scattered throughout the house. Like the chairs they were sitting on and the flat wooden spoon Mrs. Lockhart was using to transfer cookies from a metal tray to a ceramic plate.

Cookies that smelled like heaven on a chocolate bar mixed with unicorn giggles, and he had to swallow as Mrs. Lockhart brought them over to the table because his mouth was watering so much.

"Thanks mom!" Tifa had grabbed a cookie and taken a giant bite out of it before all corners of the plate had touched the table.

Cloud hesitantly took a cookie, feeling too much like this was charity, and took a bite.

His blue eyes went huge. Gooey pieces of luscious heaven exploded with so much flavor in his mouth, it was painfully sublime. Tifa laughed at his expression delightedly. "Do you like 'em?"

He reluctantly swallowed. "They're _really_ good." He took another huge bite and rolled his eyes for emphasis. "Thank you Mrs. Lockhart."

"Tifa did a lot of the work," Mrs. Lockhart said, appearing with two glasses of milk. "You should thank her."

Cloud did just that, solemnly thanking her as he reached for another cookie. Tifa just giggled again and suddenly said, "I said I wouldn't play with Johnny anymore because he was being such a butthead."

"Tifa," her mother warned.

"A meanie," Tifa amended. Her mother nodded approvingly, but when her back turned, Tifa stuck her tongue out at her.

Cloud froze in mid-chew, the sweetness of the cookie suddenly soured by a bitterness in his heart. He tucked his chin against his chest, looking down at the cookie in his hand. "Don't have to," he mumbled.

"Well I do!" The way she said it made it sound like she'd thought this over quite a bit and wouldn't be moved from her decision. "Not until he says sorry. I hate bullies and he's being a big one!" She took a vengeful chomp out of her cookie and a ghost of a smile flickered on Cloud's lips. She spoke like being a bully was the same as having a rash. It would go away, with tough enough treatment. He'd always loved that about her. Everyone was a saint in her eyes and if they weren't, they ought to be.

Gaia, how he wished it were that simple. His mother said he'd been born an old soul. He had no idea what that meant, but sometimes, he felt very tired.

Tifa must've sensed a changed in him because she immediately started to steer to topic to safer ground.

"So, did you get new swords?"

He shrugged noncommittally and took a small nibble from his cookie. Doggedly, Tifa pushed on. "It was so amazing how you did all that! I was like, oh my gosh, he is so fast!"

Hesitantly, Cloud peered at her with one blue eye from beneath his blond bangs. "Really?"

Tifa nodded excitedly. "It was awesome! I knew you'd win."

He perked up quite a bit at that. Taking another big bite from his cookie, he couldn't help but brag. Just a little. "I practiced a lot, I mean..." he didn't want it to sound like he had nothing better to do, "On some days."

"Can you show me how to get better?"

That suddenly reminded Cloud of the incident and he became shy again, not wanting to remember that. Maybe later. If Tifa asked it of him, he could never refuse. Just not now. "Sure if... you want me to."

Tifa was an angel. The proof was right at that moment when she instinctively knew he was uncomfortable and instead of forcing the issue the way any young child would, she changed the topic. "Hey, what's the weirdest thing you've ever seen in the clouds, Cloud?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

"You know!" She flapped her hand impatiently at his cluelessness. "Funny shapes that the clouds make. I think the funniest thing I've ever seen is a chocobo wearing a big hat."

Finding funny shapes in the clouds was a child's pastime and despite his age, Cloud had never indulged in it. In fact, he'd been a little disdainful of it, chalking it up as something only people with too much time on their hands would do.

But if Tifa liked it, well... then it _must_ be okay.

"I've never really looked before."

Tifa's eyes went comically huge and the ghost of his past smile flickered back hesitantly. "_Never?_ Like, never ever?"

He shook his head. "Never."

Tifa clucked her tongue - undoubtedly something she'd picked up from her mother - and shook her head. "Well you've gotta try it. Come on."

Once more grabbing him by the hand, she began to lead him to the back door - then paused. Circling back to the table, she grabbed several more cookies, stuffed them in Cloud's hands, then grabbed more for herself, and began to lead the way again. He was helpless to resist her. He always had been.

In her backyard there was a single tree in the back, but Tifa didn't aim for that. Instead, she made a beeline for the empty space between the flower beds that lined most of the backyard and plopped down. Dragging one surprised, young Cloud with her. With total disregard for concussions and head trauma, she flung herself on her back and grinned up at the sky. "Well come on, lay down."

He glanced around first, especially to see if his mother was peeking out any windows that overlooked this yard. Hey, he had an image to maintain, okay?

Satisfied the coast was clear, he threw himself on his back much like Tifa had, and grinned in purely childish glee. Tifa sighed in contentment and he replied with one of his own. She thrust a finger at the air. "That cloud there looks like a big fat chocobo, doesn't it?"

Cloud followed her finger up and absently took a bite of a cookie (warm, sweet, gooey deliciousness, still warm from the oven, melting across his tongue _yum_) as he studied the cloud in question. If he squinted and cocked his head to the side a bit, it did indeed look like a fat chocobo.

"That one looks like a snake," he offered, pointing to another.

"Hey, maybe that snake and that chocobo are fighting," Tifa said.

"What?"

"Yeah! See, that snake is using a materia," her finger outlined a vaguely circular patch of cloud, "And the fat chocobo is using a big sword! And see, that snake is going... ooh, he's gonna use a sword too!" She pointed to a long, wispy trail made by a jet passing overhead. "And see, the chocobo is going to swing at him like this and-"

Cloud lay on the grass next to her as she wove an exciting tale of daring and heroism in the sky above. He had no idea so much adventure could be found in a few wisps of water vapor. He contributed a little, but Tifa did most of the heavy lifting in the story. New characters came and went as the clouds shifted or disappeared and the story had to weave and dodge with each new development. In spite of his reservations about staring up at his namesake, he found himself getting into the story, excitedly contributing a bit of his own.

And while they chatted and laughed and made up a ridiculous adventure involving aliens and ghosts and chocobos with big swords, he noticed that Tifa wasn't treating him like an failure. In fact, she hadn't mentioned the fight except once in the house and after that it'd been like she'd forgotten about the whole thing. She was going out of her way to avoid it, to make him feel comfortable. Like she was telling him she didn't think less of him by failing.

It made a very warm feeling deep in his chest.

In the Lockhart house, the phone rang. Cloud's ears picked up the sound and a part of his attention diverted toward it. "That dark cloud looks kinda like a bear," he said.

Tifa latched onto this immediately. "Yeah! A bear with a big gun!"

"Hello?" Mrs. Lockhart had answered the phone. "Oh, hey Aurora. No, he's over here."

His mother had called? Hopefully that meant she hadn't seen him sitting on the grass eating delicious cookies next to Tifa.

Tifa's laugh sounded a lot like her mother's. "No, they're fine. They're in the backyard and making up stories with the clouds." Pause. "Yeah, actual clouds. Never done that? Well it looks like he's having fun."

"And then this wolf thing," Tifa began.

"It looks more like a lion," Cloud interjected.

This made her pause for a second. "Hmm. Maybe it's a wolf-lion?"

He shrugged. "Sure, that's pretty cool." Then Tifa started to weave a complex new arc concerning the bear and a little squirrel with a bow in her hair and Cloud got wrapped up in the intricacy of it all. Thus, the words that he heard next from the phone conversation wouldn't actually be fully understood until much later.

"Yeah. Uh huh. Right," said Mrs. Lockhart. "I noticed that too, he always seemed skittish around Tifa. I think he was embarassed last year. What happened with all those boys and everything. Tifa didn't stop talking about him for a month. She tried every trick in the book to get him to come over." Pause. "Well, she wanted to apologize, she felt so bad about what happened. Oh, thank you! Yes, I'm very proud of her. Hm? How'd she get him to come over?"

Mrs. Lockhart laughed.

"The best way to any man's heart. She baked him cookies."


	5. I Failed To Save You

_(Author's Note: And here our story takes a darker turn. This is an incident described in the game, and as such, lines from the game itself are in here. I found a nice script of FF7 on GameFaqs to reference. I'm really nervous about this one since it's such a big moment for Cloud. I hope I did it justice! Get prepared to snuggle your Cloud plushies - this chapter is dark.)_

**...I Failed To Save You**

Tifa's mother was dead.

Cloud watched the procession of mourners sweep in and out of Tifa's house all day long. Mountian folk usually dressed in somber colors, especially during the winter, but he'd never seen this much black before. He sat in the upstairs window, watching the colorless parade. Downstairs, his mom was cooking some that smelled delicious for the wake, but it didn't rouse the usual interest in his stomach. Death hung over the small town and a large part of Nibelheim seemed to have vanished like the breath in Mrs. Lockhart's lungs.

Pnuemonia. He wasn't sure how it worked, but at the age of nine, he knew enough to recognize it as being very dangerous. It was almost too surreal to believe. She couldn't be gone. Just a few days ago he'd seen her shoveling the walk to her house, pausing now and then to tuck a strand of long, dark hair under her cap.

And now she was gone. The woman that had given Tifa her infectious smile, her dark hair and bubbling laughter was simply gone. She'd never show Tifa how to bake cookies, or comb her hair, or wear long skirts decorated with his mother's elegant embroidery. Idly, he wondered who would take care of the orange and yellow flowers when summer came again.

Several of the families entering the house had children. Tifa's friends... well, peers, at the very least. Everyone called Tifa a friend and Tifa was just too kind and sweet a person to deny it. When she played, they all played with her. Loud and silly, laughing at every little thing. He watched while they played. Wanting to join in. Wanting to know what it was like to run around in circles making dumb noises and be very happy about it.

Old soul. That was him, or at least, so his mother said. Someone that behaved older than they were. Born with more years than he had. He supposed it applied to him. Sometimes, he felt very tired. It was always worse on the days when they had three-day-old soup and the people at the store gave his mother dirty looks while she painstakingly counted out her gil.

Today, though, he didn't really register what he felt. One thing occupied his thoughts, as it did most days.

Tifa.

He hadn't seen her for days. The lack of her presence was like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. While he never mentioned it to anybody, didn't even allow himself to say it out loud, he worried that Tifa would never smile after this. What would the world be like if that happened? He didn't dare to think.

"Cloud, honey, let's go."

By dint of craning his neck, he saw his mother standing in the doorway to his room, dressed in a black dress he couldn't remember her making. Nodding, he pulled on his blue and white coat that was a little ragged but plenty warm, and followed his mother downstairs. Ms. Strife scooped up a glass tray covered in tinfoil and they pushed their way out into the frozen moutain air.

The cold stole his breath away. The past few days, while Mrs. Lockhart had been gasping her last days away in the little medical clinic, the wind had grown needlesharp teeth that bit deep into warm flesh. One of the Nibel Mountains famous storms was moving in, vicious and ponderous and relentless. Very few people moved to the mountains - some tried, wayward attempts to get back to a wild part of nature, but they always left four months into a hard winter. The cold was just too much for outsiders. The conditions were brutal and loved nothing more than to pound and freeze the life out of everything caught outside a safe, warm little hole.

Cloud was used to it. Determinedly, he stomped in front of his mother and broke a trail for her, stamping down the icy powder for her. Just a few hours ago he'd shovelled out the walkway with his mother, and already three inches had accummulated. It was going to be a bad storm and he knew this was just the tip of it.

Some people were standing outside in the swirling snowflakes, smoking and speaking in hushed voices. They fell silent as Cloud and his mother approached but one of the men kindly opened the door for them. Even social outcasts were allowed to come and mourn today. Mrs. Lockhart was a loss the whole town felt.

His mom nodded and murmured her thanks as she entered the house. This was the second time he'd ever been here. The last time he'd been having cookies...

The glow was gone from the house. It was hard to describe, but that was the only way he could think of it. Before, there was always a vibrancy in the house, much like the one in his own home when his mother sang as she cooked, or hummed as she stitched, or laughed as she chased him around the house. It had been a warm aura of peace and love and motherly affection that had seeped into the floorboards and the crayon drawings on the fridge and the vase of fresh flowers. It was the subtle difference between a house and a home.

And it was gone.

Everything seemed paler now, washed out in hues of blue and gray and shadows in long, solemn faces. He'd heard about a person being able to light up a room but never before did he really understand it until now. Whenever Mrs. Lockhart smiled, you couldn't help but smile back. Just like Tifa.

Nervous, aware that he was the only child in the room, Cloud stuck close to his mother as he followed her to the kitchen. On the way there, he saw Mr. Lockhart in the living room, sitting in a chair, surrounded by friends, his face hidden behind hands as he quietly, painfully grieved. Mr. Lockhart had always been a reserved man, and the image of silent, unbearable pain was unsettling. Cloud pressed closer to his mother.

A hand on his head made him look up. His mother smiled down at him sadly, encouraging him to be strong. "Tifa is upstairs. Why don't you go see her?"

He nodded. "It's okay?"

"Of course sweety. I don't think she'll mind."

Nodding once again, he unzipped his coat as he quietly went upstairs. It was the first time he'd ever been up here. As he came out onto the second floor, he appreciated the irony. Hard to think that, after all this time of watching her and wanting to be close to her, he'd never seen this place.

It was kind of cute.

The walls were blank, soft white wallpaper, but the room was full of all the trinkets and desires of a vibrant young girl. Several stuffed dolls, looking as if they'd been well-played with and much loved, sat on her bed. The teddy bear was missing an eye and the wolf in a sports jacket and sunglasses had obviously been patched up with loving care. An upright piano sat against the wall across from the bed and to the right of the L-shaped room, was the wardrobe and writing desk clearly wrought by her father. A small vanity piled with all sorts of costume jewelry, big floppy hats and at least one feather boa was squeezed between the two.

Gingham curtains framed the box window seat, a vase of brightly colored fake flowers sitting on the wide ledge. The plastic flowers looked uncertain against the backdrop of gray and white outside. Underneath the window, pressed into the corner made by her bed and the wall, sat Tifa.

It barely registered that Eric, Ryan, and Johnny were giving him cold looks. They all wore their coats too but wore much nicer funeral clothes than he had on. But he didn't really care about any of that.

Tifa was crying.

It wrenched at something in his chest when she looked up at him, lips trembling and eyes bloodshot as more tears streamed down her face. For a moment, he forgot to be self-concious, forgot to be shy. He came forward and knelt by her. In a way, this tragedy made him feel closer too her, bridged a little of that gap he was so painfully aware of between them. He'd lost a parent too. At least she knew her mother - he'd never known his father.

"Tifa?"

Scrunched up on the floor, knees pulled up against her chest, Tifa sniffed and buried her face in her knees again. "I want... to see... mom."

The ache in his chest grew. "It's okay. You'll be okay," he whispered to her. If he'd learned anything about his absent father, it was that - no matter what happened, so long as him and his mother stuck together, they'd be okay.

And besides. He'd watch over Tifa too. He always had, anyway. If not her father, then he would see to it. Tifa would be okay. He'd protect her.

Tifa acted like she hadn't heard him. "I want to see mom."

"Okay," he said. Anything for her. "Where is she?"

She lifted her face and fixed him with a defiant look. "She's in the mountains. That's where people go when they get sick. Dad said so." And dad wouldn't lie about this.

She didn't need to say the last few words. They were as loud and clear in her eyes as if she'd shouted them. Behind him, the other kids shifted uneasily, nervous about such a claim and unwilling to correct her.

Cloud nodded, thinking it over. Tifa wanted to go to the mountains. Mr. Lockhart was in no shape to take her there and while he wasn't so sure about her mother's spirit being there, there was a lot he wasn't sure of. Really, there was only one thing he knew for absolute certain.

Wherever Tifa went, he would follow.

"Alright," he said. "I'll come with you."

**xXxXx**

It was easy to slip past all the adults. They had gathered in the corners of the house or were helping themselves to the food, standing vigil over one family in their trial of searing grief. No one noticed them all descend the stairs and quietly slip out the back. Tifa grabbed her sea green coat as they passed the back hall closet, pulling it on with a little too much strength as swept out the door, Cloud and the others in tow. The snow was coming down harder now, flakes melting on his eyelashes as he followed Tifa through the drifts.

In Nibelheim, adults told stories of snow sprites appearing during blizzards and carrying off the unwary. Cloud was 80% sure that was just a story. Even so, he made sure to scan the thickening curtain of snow and keep close to Tifa. Snow sprites couldn't weigh that much, or be strong enough to carry off both of them. At least, he was 75% certain of that.

The walk out of town was a short one - Nibelheim wasn't that big, but it was the only town in the only pass through the mountain range. The trail was well-worn by delivery trucks and travellers. The plow had gone through recently, operated by Mr. Ledbetter who owned the only real truck in town. The fresh drifts of snow usually tempted the kids to go make tunnels and forts and snowmen together and, in the natural course of things, turn on one another in a pitched, free-for-all snow war, complete with rapidly formed and dissolved alliances, depending on who was winning.

But not today. Today, the snow muffled any laughter before it had a chance to be uttered.

The plowed path ended at the edge of the town limits. The ground steadily sloped upwards further into the depths of the Nibel Mountains. Tifa paused and everyond shuffled to a halt. Cloud tore his eyes away from a particularly suspicious bank of snow that he'd sworn had shifted without reason to focus on Tifa. She was gazing up through the heavy sheets of falling snow and he followed her gaze.

He followed her line of sight until he focused on the dim giant of Mt. Nibel looming against the gray sky, a mantle of iron gray clouds draped on its stony shoulders. It was barely visible in the rapidly forming gloom, but if he cocked his head a little bit and squinted his eyes, it sorta looked like a person kneeling in prayer. Head-tilting and eye-squinting to find shapes in the shapeless was a skill he'd learned from...

Tifa.

When she taught him to have fun by staring at clouds.

"I wonder if there's anything beyond that mountain," Tifa wondered aloud.

Johnny stepped forward, licking his lips nervously. They were already looking chapped. "Mt. Nibel is scary. Many people have died there. No one crosses that mountain alive."

Tifa nodded, never taking her eyes off the mountain. "How 'bout those that died? Did mama pass through the mountain?" Before anyone could answer, she looked through the snow before her, determination hardening her features. "I'm going!"

And she plunged into the snow ahead. Cloud followed without a second thought and Johnny and Ryan came after a moment's hesitation. The snow crunched under their footsteps and when Cloud looked back, he caught a glimpse of Eric's coat vanishing back towards town.

Tucking his head against the wind, Cloud kept walking.

It was slow going. Here, on the bare side of the mountain, the wind tore at them gleefully, relishing every bite of warmth it stole from rosy cheeks and noses. Secretly, Cloud found a fairly good-sized stick and he slid it up his coat sleeve, just in case any monsters or snow sprites tried to surprise them. They didn't have much trouble with monsters in Nibelheim, but he'd heard lots of stories. More than once he slipped on a patch of ice and got up with a few new scratches, but Tifa kept walking, and so would he.

The old rope and wood bridge was in sight when he heard voices raised above the howling wind. The gusts were forming into a true, pre-storm gale, and it was a struggle to hear the others. Turning around, he caught sight of Johnny and Ryan shouting something at each other, Johnny pulling on Ryan's sleeve desperately. The wind tore the words from their mouths and warped it before Cloud could hear, but the meaning was clear enough - they were turning back.

Johnny dashed back along the path and Ryan turned to Cloud, face pinched with cold and fear. Their eyes met for a few seconds, then Ryan hastily followed his friend. Cloud pulled his ragged coat around him a bit more and trudged after Tifa, who hadn't slowed down a bit, intent on finding her mother.

They were a quarter of the way across the bridge when it happend. Cloud saw it all as if in slow motion.

Tifa's boot landed on a patch of black ice. Her heel twisted under her, flying over the edge of the bridge. She stumbled, hands out to grab the railing but she was too short to get a good grip. A blast of vicious wind, fed by the emptyness beneath them and the coming storm, slammed into them, and her other leg buckled.

Tifa started to go over the edge.

Cloud's heartbeat went from zero to million in a second.

_Tifa was falling._

He had no recollection of crossing the distance between them. In what seemed the space between one instant and the next, he was at the edge of the bridge, one mitten gripping Tifa's coat sleeve and the other hand desperately wrapped around a thick strand of rope. "I got you. I got you," he grunted between clenched teeth. He tried to pull her up, but she felt so heavy! Dammit, he was supposed to protect her! Slowly, agonizingly slow, he managed to pull her up an inch with one arm. It wasn't easy with more than half his body leaning over the edge.

"Cloud!"

He opened his eyes and for a second, he saw pure, abject terror in her eyes. And he knew, with terrible certainty, that he couldn't save her.

Then his fingers on the rope slipped.

They both went over the edge, rushing through the cold and darkness.

**xXxXx**

The wind cut like a knife. The howling, savage voice of the mountains deafened him, cutting his ears with pain and cold as they fell, snapping their clothes against small bodies like flags in a tornado. Tifa was screaming. He may have been screaming too but all he could hear was the wind.

Somehow, he still held onto her coat and, acting on blind instinct, he pulled them together, warpping his arms around her and holding on for dear life. Maybe, twined together like this, he could take the brunt of the fall and spare Tifa.

They hit ground a second later, with Cloud on the bottom. The wind rushed out of him and he almost lost his hold on Tifa. They bounced in the air then hit again, this time on their side, a rock digging sharply in ribs. They bounced several more times, coming down a little faster than the last, rolling over rocks and sticks and jagged shards of concrete left over from construction, half-buried by snow. Most of the time, Cloud landed on the bottom, Tifa tucked firmly against him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Cloud endured it, not daring to let go for a second. They rolled down the severe slope of the chasm, tossed about by the wind like toys.

Just before they hit the bottom, Cloud realized Tifa had stopped screaming.

Then something struck him in the back of the head and everything went dark.

When he came to, someone was shouting at him. He sat up, blinking snow out of his eyes and saw Mr. Morales, the local guide standing over him, fear scrawled across his face. "Cloud! Why'd you bring Tifa to a place like this?"

Cloud blinked up at him stupidly. What?

Mr. Ledbetter came up and filled the other half of Cloud's vision. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"What if she dies?" Mr. Morales said at the same time.

_Dies? What...?_

_Tifa!_

Cloud scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, blue eyes desperately scanning for Tifa. There she was, being lifted onto a gurney by the doctor. They found her. She was safe.

The doctor - his name escaped Cloud at the moment. Dr. Lein? Dr. Leman? - glanced up. "Hey, get him over here! He might have a concussion!"

With obvious reluctance, Mr. Morales began to guide Cloud over to the ATV that belonged to the shop owner, Mr. McHugh. What happened next was a blur. They jounced around as the ATV navigated the broken terrain, every bounce and jarring roll of the wheels made his head hurt. Worse, though, was the pain from his knees, which Dr. Lundgren - that was it, knew it started with an L - had attended and declared was nothing more serious than a case of badly scraped knees.

He spent most of his attention on Tifa however. Mr. Lockhart, still wearing his funeral clothes, looked so grief-stricken, so terrified, that he needed no words to make clear what he was thinking.

_I can't lose both of them!_

The ride to Nibelhiem was safe, if not steady. They quickly wheeled Tifa away to the medical clinic that Dr. Lundgren lived above. Cloud caught the word 'coma' and not much else. They wouldn't speak to him.

Then he saw his mother and he ran over to her, burying his face in her dress, babbling. "I tried to catch her but she fell, mom, I couldn't hold onto us both and it was so cold and she fell and I-I," he stammered, trying to get out everything much too fast.

"Shh, shh, Cloud I know. It's okay. I know you did what you could, sweetie." She had gone to her knees and scooped him up in her arms and he usually squirmed against such displays the way all young children were obliged to, but this time, he let it pass. It felt good.

The crunch of snow behind them made them both look up.

Mr. Lockhart stared at them for a second, an ugly melange of fear and hate and grief twisting his features. Then, in a thick voice, he said, "Keep your son away from my daughter." Fixing those tear-filled eyes on Cloud, he added, "Don't come near Tifa again. You hear me? Stay away from her! Don't come near her!"

He was shouting by the end and several men came foward to lay a restraining hand on him. Cloud could only stare in shock, a raw, sour wound beginning to open in the center of his young soul, when his mother swiftly and silently pulled him away. "Wait here," she said, voice muffled and hurried into the Lockhart house while Mr. Lockhart screamed obscenities at them.

"It's your fault, Cloud."

He knew that voice. Turning, still too stunned by what was happening, Cloud found Johnny and Eric and Ryan, that damn trio, giving him nasty looks. Eric glanced at the adults, but they were busy with Mr. Lockhart. Then he added, a little quieter, "You're the one that led Tifa out there. It's your fault she might die!"

Ah. So that's how it was. They were too scared to accept responsibility for not telling the adults sooner. Better to blame the outcast than to incriminate themselves.

He began to turn away from them, too cold and hurting and weary to deal with them.

That's when Ryan made a mistake.

He said, very quietly, "You should be the one to die instead of her."

Something broke inside Cloud at those words, something that unleashed a dam of pain and regret and self-loathing so bitter it made his heart choke. The next thing he knew, he was on top of Ryan, slamming his fists into the boy's face, screaming with rage, screaming until his vision had gone entirely red. When hands pulled him off, he still screamed, kicking and cursing and biting, trying to get back at them, hating them but, even more, hating himself.

When his mother came out of the house, carrying the empty glass tray, she rushed over immediately but he was incoherent with rage. Tearing himself away from the hands, he ran into the house and up to his room, threw himself on the bed and started crying like he'd never done before.

He was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to make sure nothing happened to her. It was his job to be there when she needed him, and when the moment came... it wasn't enough. He'd been too weak to save her.

He had failed.

Cloud punched the pillow, cursing and sobbing. It didn't matter how much the others cursed and hated and blamed him. It didn't matter how much guilt they laid at his feet. It didn't matter.

No amount they laid on him would ever match the loathing he held for himself.


	6. I Had A Snow Fight

_(Author's Note: Gah! August 31 already? WHAT HAPPENED? I have no idea. But, everyone asked for a happy one-shot and it took me a little while to settle one a really good one. So here you are! I'm so, so, so, sorry for the delay. I've really no excuse, it just kept slipping by me. But, I promised all my wonderful readers at least an update per month and here it is!_

_If it stops you from lynching me, I DID get this wonderful idea for Cloud's proposal story, and I just had to write it ahead. Trust me, you'll love it! The next chapter will be inspired by our very own _kitsune13 _who had just recently published her own book! So a big congratulations to her! She's a major inspiration for me and I love her writing. Go buy her book._

_P.S.: I cut Johnny out of this quickly, because I think we've seen enough of that butthead.)_

**...I Had A Snowfight**

It's true that mountain folk are hardy. It's true they can run a mile without getting as winded as lowland folk. It's true that they shrug off the cold the way a duck shrugs off water. But some people - nameless, ignorant people - take this natural acclimation and tolerance of the cold to disjointed lengths of cold-related ability. For example, just because one is used to the cold and shoveling out snow four feet deep, doesn't mean one enjoys jumping naked into a lake in the dead of winter. Nor does it mean that every person born and raised in the mountains is a master at snowboarding, skiing, or any other winter sport. Not everyone was inclined to go conquering the frigid outdoors simply because they got a crapton of snow on their doorstep each winter. No, being born in the mountains did not mean you were already eligible for the winter Olympics.

It didn't automatically assure quality snowman-building either, for that matter. In fact, a mountain boy had just discovered this unforeseen truth.

Cloud frowned at the wreck of a snowman before him. He'd never thought that something so powdery and crunchy and light would form something so... lumpy. The snowthing - he wasn't yet prepared to condemn the poor thing to human status quite yet - looked as if he'd said something amusing yet nonsensical, its head tilted to the side and its wide smile of rocks made a true hillbilly grin since no two rocks were quite the same color. Despite his best attempts, the snowthing had taken on a definite tilt over the last hour. Two more deformed snowthings loomed haphazardly in front of his house, past experiments that ultimately had to be abandoned because they were getting too creepy.

Brow furrowed in thought, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong, Cloud sat down on the third head he'd made and ultimately discarded, and considered his snowthings for a while.

Gently, with majestic slowness, the head of his second snowthing fell to the ground and disintegrated.

If he kept this up, the neighbors would think he was making a mutant snowthing freak show. And he'd be starring as the mad scientist behind it all.

A few sharp squeals and a gasp warned him and he casually tipped his head to the side as a snowball whizzed past his head. Sighing, he bent over and started gathering up more snow around one of the discarded, goofy heads to make a base for another snowthing. Behind him, Tifa and most of the other town children were embroiled in a full out, throw-down, no-prisoners snow war.

As he added more layers to the snowthings' head, Tifa's bright, clear laughter rang out in the snow-smothered town and his lips twitched a little in response. Her mother had died a few months ago, and already she was laughing again. That was good. For a long time, he'd worried she would never laugh again.

Or smile, or run, or bake cookies...

He closed his eyes and shook the thoughts from his head. After the fated incident on the bridge, Tifa had fallen into a coma for seven days. The entire town held its breath, waiting for her to wake up. Cloud would always remember the day she'd finally opened her eyes. It'd been the first time he'd ever cried twice in the same month, in the same _year_, since he was little, but his mother did a good job of pretending not to notice.

Tifa squealed and the sound of running and breathless laughter followed. The others were currently engaged in a snowball fight of epic proportions. Though Cloud would give anything to join in, Mr. Lockhart's threats were still strong in his mind. There was no way to engage in the battle without contacting Tifa who, by the looks of things, was dominating the battlefield. He was content to stay on the sidelines though, producing one malformed snowthing after another, and listen to Tifa's laughter. It was a music he'd never tire of. If all he could do was sit on the sidelines and watch, seeing her being happy was plenty of compensation. If that didn't make him entirely content, at least it was satisfactory. That was his plan.

Since when did his plans _ever_ go right?

Cloud was halfway on his fourth snowthing and seriously considering just making it into a giant ball - he couldn't _possibly_ screw that up, or so he hoped - when a small body hurtled into him with a dull _whump._

Cloud had only once been full-body tackled before, and that experience didn't make it any easier a second time. Nothing could really help one adjust to the sudden shift from standing still one second to flying through the air the next. In fact, he doubted anyone _could_ adjust to such a sudden change in state unless you were crazy or were a paratrooper. Since he was _not_ mentally ill nor did he throw himself out of airplanes for kicks, Cloud was taken entirely unaware of the unpleasant experience of involuntary flight. So he did the most natural thing one would do in such a situation.

He screamed his spiky head off.

Or so he tried, at least - the _whump_ of impact had quite nicely punched the air from his lungs, so what emerged was more like a whistling croaking sound that reminded him of an unpleasantly surprised duck. This wasn't exactly how he'd imagined his first flight would go.

A second, more impressive _whump_ accompanied his graceless landing in the nearby drift of snow and whoever was on top of him started squirming madly. With slow grace, his half-made snowthing fell on top of him.

Pain! Ow ow ow ow ow! Needles of icy cold stabbed into his nose as a hand on the back of his head pushed his face further into the snow. Squirming accomplished nothing, but a boot on his back and the sudden absence of weight told him that whoever'd been on top of him had just used him to push up into a standing position. Not one of his most dignified moments, but he didn't care, so long as the weight was gone.

Groaning, Cloud rolled over onto his boot-imprinted back and brought a hand up to rub his abused nose. That's when a large splat of snow landed on his face.

This, the abused Cloud felt, required an appropriate return of threat.

So, grabbing a handful of snow, he rolled over on his side and brought the frozen mass right down on the head of his assailant. _And let that be a lesson!_ he thought.

Gasping, Tifa shook the snow out of her long, silky hair, glared down at him and demanded, "What was that for?"

Oops.

At this moment, a few thoughts went through Cloud's head with lightning speed.

Thought One: Tifa looked very attractive with snow clinging to her eyelashes and her light blue knitted hat. Even her smoldering glare made his heart ache indescribably.

Thought Two: She'd never forgive him for that snow attack.

Thought Three: She was the last person he wanted to see. He still had nightmares about failing her, up on the mountain, still got into fights out of pure frustration with the other boys. Just seeing her this close made his soul scream.

Thought Four: She was packing up some snow into a ball.

Thought Five: Now would be a good time to panic, Cloud.

A large ball of snow plopped on his head as he sat up, and he heard Tifa giggle. Sputtering, Cloud wiped the snow from his eyes and glared up at her, for once all the too-heavy burdens on his shoulders entirely forgotten. He shifted to hide his far hand from her, pulling snow into a vaguely round shape. His eyes narrowed as he looked up at the still-laughing Tifa. It'd be tricky from this angle, but he was sure he could get another snowball in her hair. If he was lucky, it may even slide down the back of her coat and down her neck.

"Cloud, if you throw that at me, I'll never forgive you!"

He jumped, the snowball crumbling to pieces as his fingers clenched on it in surprise. With stunning grace and the unshakable apperance of prepubescent poise, Cloud stammered. "I-I wasn't going to throw it at you!"

Tifa's eyes gleamed wickedly. "Oh, so you admit you were gonna throw something at me?"

Cloud couldn't quite figure out how to refute that one, his mouth flapping open and closed several times suavely. Being totally cool in social situations, that's him!

He tried again.

"I, uh... I was um..."

There should be some rule about girls not being able to look so darn cute when they smirked at you, he thought. Every time a coherent argument formed in his brain, it dissolved again when he caught the light sparkling off the amber flecks in her eyes that had grown there as she got older.

Those amber eyes were addictive. He came to this conclusion while he sputtered and fumbled but could never seem to pull his eyes away from hers. Somewhere in the back of his head, the part of his brain that was still running at full capacity told him he was dangerously close to making a fool of himself. The rest of his brain didn't really mind.

In the end, it was the warlike nature of humanity that saved him.

Three snowballs zipped out of nowhere and hit Tifa, _pish! pish! pish!_ and she squeaked as she dove for cover. Several more snowballs missed her, and two neatly took out his last remaining snowthing.

For the second time that day, she landed on Cloud. He began to think that this would become a depressing habit for her. Not that he really minded such prospects. In fact, it could be quite promising, much later, when he was older...

Any path _that_ thought might've taken was cut off as he got a face full of snowball himself. Spluttering through snow, he wiped the powder from his face and quickly joined Tifa behind the malformed bulk of his snowthing. It might've been a shoddy snowman but it made for a _great_ impromptu fort.

Two sets of bright eyes peered over the lumpy mass of snow to gauge the deteriorating situation. Out in front of Tifa's house, four boys were crouched behind their own snow fort, rapidly reloading their spent ammunition.

Cloud and Tifa looked at each other, and the battle lines were drawn. As one, they bent and started packing snow.

"So, how are we gonna do this?" he asked.

"Well, they outnumber us, but I'm sure Timmy will come to our side." That was the youngest boy in town, and known to be infatuated with Tifa. Just like everyone else.

Bouncing a snowball in one mitten, she tossed it over the edge suddenly and bent to make some more. A garbled cry indicated it had indeed found a mark. "But they'll rush us because they got numbers so we should rush them first. Timmy will probably come over then."

Cloud nodded. "Right." He picked up a snowball in each hand and peered over their snow wall. A snowball clipped his hair and went spinning off behind him. "I'll make a hole," he said, and vaulted over the edge.

Two snowballs to the chest and one to the face smacked him back over the edge of his fort and Tifa laughed. Disgruntled, he wiped the snow out of his face and glared at her. Her laughter took on fresh enthusiasm.

"I'll try it again," he said.

Tifa nodded, grinning. "Okay!"

Then he charged. Letting loose a truly fierce battle cry for a boy of his age, he went into the fray, the four snowballs in his pockets coming out and ready for some damage.

Johnny fell over backward with a surprised squawk, a snowball in his face. Eric and Ryan were pelted with two each and Cloud only suffered from a snowball to the kneecap.

"Timmy! Run!" He stomped a foot on their snow wall and a large chunk slid off, still quite powdery. Grabbing it, he threw it at Ryan, who was just getting back up, and it knocked the boy over, taking out Johnny in the process. Laughing, Cloud ran back with Timmy where Tifa was covering their retreat.

"That was awesome!" she gasped as they tumbled over to protection. Then she looked concerned as Cloud's expression went odd. "What's wrong?"

Grumbling, Cloud crouched and reached back to wipe off the snowball clinging to the seat of his pants.

A minute later, he said, "You don't have to laugh _that_ hard." But he was smiling.

"Here they come!" Timmy warned and fired off a clumsy snowball.

Tifa squeaked as a snowball clipped her ear and Cloud retaliated by whipping a snowball with each hand - one, two! - each of them finding their targets. By then, Tifa joined in the fight and a veritable barrage of snowballs rose to meet the advancing army. Timmy did his part and kept the two older kids supplied with a ready snowball.

The other boys scattered, not expecting such a prepared assault and the motley crew cheered. "That's what happens when you have a chocobo on your side!" Tifa shouted and she and Timmy burst out laughing while Cloud blushed. But it was a proud blush and for a second, he forgot to be shy around Tifa.

"I like your hat," he said.

She gave him an odd look.

Maybe it was the laughter. It sparkled through his veins like fine wine, making him feel light headed. That's the only feasible reason for why he kept going. "It looks really nice with your hair." The heat was rising in his cheeks and so was the warmth in her eyes.

He wanted to start beating his head against the wall. Her _hat?_ He liked her _hat?_ Oh yeah, WAY charming there, Prince. After all, it was such a nice hat. So blue. And fuzzy. Very appealing.

He felt like an idiot.

"Thanks," she said, for the first time looking shy herself. Those amber-flecked eyes cast downward as she drew a heart in the snow with her red mittens. Timmy looked between the two, not quite sure what was going on, but knowing that it was way over him.

A sharp gasp from the younger boy drew their attention. Timmy was backing up in the snow until he ran into Cloud's other toppled snowthing, pointing.

They looked.

Eric, Ryan and Johnny were standing over them, each holding a bucket filled with fresh snow.

Tifa squeaked, "Don't you dare-" before a bucket was upended on her. Cloud got similar treatment and little Timmy got his due as well.

Their shouts of dismay and laughing protest were drowned out by the other three laughing, urging each other to run away.

Scooping snow out of her scarf, Tifa shouted, "After them!"

Once again, Cloud launched himself over the edge of his fallen snowthing and scooped up some snow. His first shot missed Johnny, and the third only clipped a shoulder. But the third shot landed home with a satisfying wet _splat!_ right on the back of Johnny's head. He heard Tifa voice a victory shout and he turned, grinning, to see her glowing smile when Ryan tackled him.

They were all playing nice, especially in front of Tifa, and so the tackle did little damage to him. Even so, it didn't prevent Eric from scrambling up and drop handfuls of snow in his face while Ryan, slung over his stomach, held him down.

"Ack! Help!" he shouted, choking on snow and laughter. No matter how he wriggled, Ryan managed to pin him down and shout at Eric, who was also liberally scattering him with snow as well.

That's when little Timmy bravely threw himself on Ryan's back, and Cloud grunted from the additional weight. "I said help, not crush me!" Then Timmy delicately placed a snowball down Ryan's coat and the older boy shrieked, thrashing around.

Cloud could already feel the bruises forming on the bruises from Tifa.

"I'll help you, Ryan!" Tifa chimed and she ran up to pluck Timmy off. Cloud gasped at her betrayal. She grinned at him evilly and his eyes narrowed. Oh, so that's how it was going to be? Well, two could play at this game.

Rolling over on his stomach, he grabbed Eric's ankles and jerked. The boy went down in a flurry of snow and an undignified squawk. Standing, Cloud carelessly whipped another snowball into Johnny's face, putting the boy out of action again.

Then he turned to Tifa. She laughed, hiding behind Timmy. Grinning, he bolted after her and she took off, urging Timmy to greater speed while trying to stay up straight and laugh at the same time. Cloud easily loped over the snow and jumped over his fallen snowthings but the other two kept pace. When Timmy fell, Tifa - ever the kind, wholesome, caring and _traitorous_ - stopped to help him up.

Somewhere, he was heard a voice call out and Johnny was forced to quit the field.

But he paid that little attention right now. Right now, he was smirking as he picked up Timmy and gently tossed him into a snowbank, then grabbed Tifa before she could run and heft her over one shoulder.

He grunted. She was _heavy._ He poked her in the side and she burst into giggles. Ticklish, hm? Good to know.

He turned to Timmy, who'd extracted himself from the snow. In the distance, Ryan and Eric were trading sneaky looks. "Think I should throw her?" he asked the younger boy.

"Cloud, don't you dare!" Tifa gasped.

"Face down!" Timmy said joyfully.

"Alright then!" Cloud made to throw Tifa in the nearest drift of snow.

Of course, his plans _never_ go the way he wanted.

What happened next has to be described in slow motion. First, he made to throw her, but checked his toss, intending just to scare her. But Tifa shrieked with laughter and kicked her legs, throwing him off balance. He wobbled for a dangerous second then poked her ribs again, which made her squeal and squirm even more. Then Timmy, the back-stabber, threw his weight at Cloud's back - well, the back of his legs, at least - and the top-heavy blond went over.

_PIFF!_

For the second time that day, he got snow shoved up his nose. Tifa freed her legs from his weight and, laughing, urged Timmy to help her. "Bury him, quick! And we'll leave him here!"

Cloud gasped in mock hurt and Tifa only replied by smushing a fistful of snow on his hair. Chuckling, he tried to sit up but Timmy sat on his chest, effectively trapping Cloud in the soft drifts of snow.

"That's not fair!" he protested, trying his best to look stern and not really succeeding.

"Dig faster!" Tifa urged Timmy.

They had half his legs buried when Eric and Ryan launched their counter attack. They rushed the shoveling pair and Tifa was pelted with snowballs. Cloud easily pushed Timmy off and, grabbing a handful of snow, started liberally spraying the boys with snow. It slowed them down a little and Tifa managed to get free.

Then, grinning wickedly, she threw a snowball at Timmy. "Attack!" she shouted to no one in particular.

It was like they'd never agreed to teams after that, and the situation rapidly devolved into a free-for-all snow brawl. Say what you will about mountain-dwellers not being experts in all things snow-related - when they threw down and the snow started to fly, they were _deadly._

More than once Cloud was blinded by snow and had to run away to get his bearings. In one such situation he ended up running right into his last standing snowthing, the one that had lost its head, and clotheslined himself on it. When that happened, he decided to stay on the ground, dazedly. It was nice down there.

Of course, it didn't last long and he was soon pulled back into the fight. Once, he'd gotten pinned by Eric while Tifa shoveled snow down the back of his coat, and he got back at her by stuffing her right boot full of icy powder.

It was chaos. Alliances were made and broken in time it took for a snowball to cross six feet. It was fun. It had been far too long since he'd laughed like that and when the evening started to wear on, he found himself just lying in the snow, Tifa next to him and the others scattered about, just giggling up at the sky.

At some point, his mother emerged bearing a tray full of cups of hot chocolate. There's nothing that can make a kid forget rules and wars and parent's distrusting glances like hot chocolate in the middle of a snowfight. The chocolate was delicious as it rolled across his tongue and he saw Tifa's face look the same his must've been when he'd bitten into her cookie, those years ago. When their eyes met over steaming cups, his heart clenched. She had a bit of whipped cream on her nose and she looked adorable as she tried to lick it off with her tongue.

Shortly after, the closing darkness had parents leaning out front doors and shouting for their children. Cloud sighed, feeling truly worn out from all the play and turned toward his mother.

Suddenly, a weight threw itself against him and he jerked, startled.

Tifa had thrown her arms around him and was giving him as big a hug as she could muster. "Thanks, Cloud," she said, so only he could hear, and his cheeks flushed with warmth.

Then she let go and pranced back to her house where her father watched, a tremulous smile on his grief-ravaged face. He looked much older than he had a few months ago, but the sight of his daughter, snow-crusted and grinning, lifted the years off of him.

Shrugging his tattered coat on him a little better, Cloud trudged toward his house and pretended to ignore his mother's knowing grin.

"Did you have fun?" she asked, helping him shake snow off his coat. She raised an eyebrow at his snow-crusted spikes.

Then Cloud did something she'd never expect.

He looked up at her and grinned slyly.

And he said, "Not until the very end."

_(Alright, folks, now it's your turn! Send me some ideas to write up for this soon! The more you suggest, the more I'll write! I want to make 50 chapters at least!)_


	7. I Heard Your Music

_(Author's Note: GAH! What happened to September update? Well, school, actually. I just had a lot of stuff due all at once and I get about 5 hours of lecture to listen to online for another class, and THAT'S what's been taking up my writing time on weekends. But still, I missed a monthly update. To make up for it, I'll post 2 updates for October. ;) _

_Now, this chapter is one of the reasons I even wanted to write this entire collection. And this was inspired by a chapter from _kitsune13's "For Their Own Good"._ It's one of my favorite collections of CxT stuff and has excellent writing. Specifically, this was inspired by _Chapter 18: Love Song_ of that collection._

_Also, _kitsune13_ has recently published her own book. Please check it out! If she wrote a presidential biography, I'd read it, she's such a great writer.)_

**...I Heard Your Music**

Cloud hated spring. It wasn't an allergy thing, though now and then he did suffer from the occasional fit of sneezing, but it was just the overall ambiance of whole season that put him off. Spring was when the air filled with the scent of wet and growing things and cheerful birdsong.

Cloud didn't do _cheerful._ In fact, he quickly came to resent the return of birdsong, because the horrible little blighters woke up just before the sun tinted the sky, and the sadistic sky-rats seemed to take a perverse pleasure in perching just outside his window to herald the new day.

While he could appreciate the rain and the warming temperatures, he detested the fact that spring seemed to be a season that couldn't make up its mind. It would be warm and soothing one day, and the next, he'd be distrustfully eying the inch of snow on the doorstep.

To add to this dubious state of weather, the drastic changes in humidity played holy hell on his hair, which he usually left more or less to its own devices, and transformed him into what his mother lovingly described as a 'chocobo chick, all cute and fuzzy still.'

He was less than amused by this comparison.

Further, some sick, depraved person had come up with the phrase 'spring cleaning' and his mother took these two evil words to heart every year. In the natural inclinations of childhood, Cloud did his best to weasel out of much of the work, often with success, but unfortunately, he couldn't just quietly spend time in his room while doing this. No, he had to 'go play outside' as his mother sternly commanded him.

"Children should spend time outside getting good exercise and stretching their legs," Ms. Strife would recite, as if from a textbook. Whenever Cloud hesitated, she'd add, (a little viciously, he thought), "If you don't want to play outside, then the floor always needs waxing..."

And that is how he ended up outside on this brisk, windy spring day, glaring at the fresh mud puddles and bored out of his mind.

Ducking his head further into the collar of his windbreaker jacket, Cloud circled the house a few times, kicking at rocks and poking with fleeting curiosity at the odd half-drowned weed. These short investigations abruptly ended when a prodding toe released enough pollen to make him sneeze for several minutes. Glumly, Cloud continued around the house, then sat on the stone stoop and gazed around. It was a breezy day that his windbreaker did nothing to thwart, and with each shiver from every errant gust, his hatred of spring deepened. Idly, he went over a list of possible things to do in his mind, but each task seemed more and more like a chore, and often included coming into contact with wet leaves or rushing through the chill, damp air that even now threatened to force his resemblance to a chocobo chick.

After much deliberation, Cloud made a declaration.

"Spring sucks," he announced.

Water dripped forlornly from the gutter, the only mute witness to his judgement.

He sighed. "This is so stupid. No one else is forced to play outside."

The door opened behind him with such suddenness, he would've sworn his mother had been waiting on the other side, ear pressed to the door.

"Cloud, why are you sitting there?" his mother asked sweetly.

Rubbing a hand on the back of his neck to smooth down the hackles her sudden appearance had conjured, Cloud gave her a surly look over his shoulder. She smiled sweetly, her own bright blue eyes twinkly mischievously.

"It's boring and too cold," Cloud muttered.

"What's that?" She put a dainty hand to one ear. "It's almost like I heard a certain boy, who spent more time in the snow than by the fire, complain about the cold!"

He scowled at her and muttered under his breath. It's true, he had spent a lot of time out in the snow. He couldn't help it. Every time he saw Tifa rollicking about, with friends, or by herself, he rushed to get outside and build a few more snowthings. He'd never joined in another snowfight after that first one, but it felt nice just to be in the same space as her. Though he'd never admit this to _anyone_, it felt soothing just to be within her sight, just knowing that if she tilted her head a little this way or her eyes shifted just a bit to the side, that amber gaze would be on him, wrapping him up in their light and laughter. It was a silly idea, but it had kept him warm on plenty of snowy winter days, building small, dark tunnels in the snow.

But, as already made clear, there's _no friggin' way_ he'd admit that to his mother, of all people. Past experience told him that trying to explain to her that being well-padded in dry, bitter cold was much different from being lightly shielded in the damp, clammy air. Even so, it was his last resort and tradition demanded he make the best of attempts, so he decided to have a go.

"It's cold and everything's wet and this jacket isn't really warm-"

He was interrupted when his mother thrust a heavy, knitted sweater under his nose. It was the dark blue, cable-knit sweater that was his favorite, with a high neck that kept his delicate nape nice and warm.

He glared at his mother, who smiled even more. Mother's intuition, hell; she was _psychic._ Tight-lipped, he shrugged off his jacket and pulled the sweater on, shivering as another evil gust of wind struck at his temporary weakness. Quickly, he dived back into the jacket and zipped it up. Admittedly, he was already feeling much warmer.

"Now go, shoo," Ms. Strife said. She gently flapped her apron at him playfully. "Go run and be a happy, active child. The floor is only half done, so don't come in for another hour."

Then she closed the door. Which sprinkled more drops of icy water on him though this time, they were thwarted by the high neck of his navy blue sweater. Grumbling, he began another dreary circuit around the house.

After furtively glancing around, he ascertained that he was well and truly alone out here. Even so, he tucked his chin to his chest and mumbled, just in case his mother's sharp ears were within range, "Boredom is going to kill me in ten minutes."

Ten minutes later, still very much alive, Cloud sighed. And he decided that he better find some way to kill the next 50 minutes, because the silence and stillness clearly wasn't going to considerately kill him. Going on the offensive, that's him!

Out in the scraggly backyard that housed a few trees and pollen-loaded weeds, Cloud collapsed on an enormous stump and killed a few minutes chucking pinecones at the pollen pods. Good to see that his excellent aim wasn't limited to just snowballs.

That was when he heard it. A delicate tinkling sound on the air, crisp and gentle. His chin jerked up from his hands and he glanced around. The second he paid attention to it, however, the sound had vanished. He sat there, fits clenched on his knees, ears straining in the sodden air.

Silence. Not even a hint of a wind chime.

"I really must be bored," he muttered to himself. He sighed and lobbed another pine cone into a greenery.

Once again, a delicate jangling drifted over to him. His head jerked up again at the soft sound. It was definitely coming from the right side of the house. Warily, he stalked toward the sound, letting a pine cone drop from his hand as the mysterious source stoked his curiosity.

Stepping carefully so as not to give himself away, he peered around the edge of his house just as the music cut short.

Nothing was there.

"The heck...?" He stepped into the space between his house and Tifa's, rubbing the back of his neck. "I swore I heard something." Muttering to himself had always been a trait he'd never been aware of, and occasionally garnered him a playful tease from his mother. When he was truly alone, though, he'd really get going, mumbling random things under his breath like a demented stream of consciousness.

As he poked around the narrow area, searching for the possible source, his mouth was on full auto.

"Wonder what that was... sounded really nice, kinda like chimes... doesn't that song sound familiar? Oh, cool." For a second, he admired a truly spectacular beetle sitting on a rock. "That is so huge... freak mom out for sure..." He grinned suddenly, and carefully advanced on the bug, but with a twitch of its antennae, it scurried between two rocks and vanished. "Dang."

A few more notes spun out into the air, seemingly right next to him, and he jumped. After a slight hesitation, a few measures spun beautifully through the air, then stopped, and the last beats were repeated. It reminded Cloud of someone trying to find the right notes as they consulted a song in their memory.

Cloud spun around in confusion, even tipping over rocks for the source of the sound.

Then he stopped.

His face took on the flat, wry expression of a man who just now realizes what an idiot he's been.

He took a few steps that carried him out of the small, dark place, turning toward Tifa's house.

And he looked up.

There, sure enough, was Tifa's window, a sight so often studied and observed by him that he knew every flaw by heart. This time it was slightly open, and from it drifted the soft piano music. Up there, alone in her room, her house, Tifa was trying to replicate a favorite song of hers.

After glancing around and making sure he was truly alone, with no one peeking through windows, Cloud dashed over to her house and, after a brief fight with a bush, hunkered down behind some shrubbery, right under her window. The still-bare branches didn't fully conceal him, and if anyone truly looked they'd spot him right away, but it did the job.

Settling down on a rock, ignoring the dampness soaking the seat of his pants, Cloud listened to Tifa's music.

The song was a beautiful one, but not one he'd ever imagined Tifa playing. He'd heard it before, of course, since it was fairly popular on the radio. It had a haunting, sad melody; deceptively simple, yet powerful in a way. As he closed his eyes, chin nestling into his arms, folded around his knees, he sighed at the melancholy beauty of the song. Tifa wasn't singing along, but she had the vocal line in there as well.

It wasn't a song that belonged with Tifa, so wistful but hoping, a little sad, but a little tranquil too, like everything would be okay. For some reason, it made him think of her mother.

Suddenly, the song stopped. A sour note was tapped out experimentally and he could picture her fingers wandering over the keys, lower lip tucked under her teeth, as she tried to find the right note. He smiled at the image, just as her fingers found the right note. She played the last measure again to get the feel of it, then started over from the beginning. At this rate, it'd take her hours and hours, days even, to finish the whole song. The long pauses and hesitant tapping would drive the most tolerant person crazy.

Wiggling around to get comfortable, Cloud settled back and listened, content.

**xXxXx**

The next day, Cloud went outside without his mother having to cajole, force, or threaten him to do it. He just put on a sweater and his jacket and went outside. She was suspicious at first, especially when he did nothing but wander around and kick the dirt, but eventually she just shrugged and turned to work that needed doing.

Once her eyes were turned away, Cloud would casually mosey over to the shrub and settle behind it, and, without fail, Tifa's music would start up after a little while. This routine kept up for most of spring, and the song improved each day.

Every damp, cold day, Tifa would play that song endlessly. He could tell she relished it by the way she lingered over certain measures, or repeated a rising chord at random.

Every damp, cold day, Cloud would wiggle under the shrub and sit under her window, listening to her mistakes and flourishes, to every hammered note and whispered passage.

It was the only spring when Cloud willingly spent more time outside than he did in. It baffled his mother to no end.

Eventually though, the days grew warmer and dryer, and the other kids would come out to play. As these days grew more frequent, Tifa began playing less and less. Until, after a solid month without playing her piano, and showing no signs that she was going to pick it up again with the warm, pleasant weather beckoning, Cloud stopped sitting under her window. Summer had come, and it was time to explore outside, not a time to play piano indoors. His mother eventually dismissed his odd behavior as a childish quirk.

Next year, she said to herself, while Cloud was busy climbing trees. Next year, it'll be just the same and he'll hate spring even more, just like every year.

But it didn't happen. Instead, he took a strange liking to the season and every winter he could be found now and then sitting at a window, staring at the white landscape in desperate search for a change. When asked what he was looking for, the answer was always the same.

He couldn't wait for spring to come again.


	8. You Scared Me

_(Author's Note: As promised, the second update for October! I had quite a bit of fun with this one, and yes, some of these pranks I've experienced firsthand. Cloud just struck me as one of those 'Yeah right, BOO, whatever,' people and I wrote this accordingly._

_Alright folks, now's the time to fess up! What are you gonna be for Halloween? I'm going as an FF7 fangirl. I got a shirt that says _Jenova's Witness_, Fenrir earrings, and a fuzzy stuffed chocobo chick. It's gonna be awesome.)_

**...You Scared Me**

The summer passed without much event, except for the war in Wutai heating up. But the war was so distant, so far away, it barely bothered them. Once, a man from Shinra had come, a balding engineer with a quick smile, and was swift to assure the town that he was merely here to make sure the reactor was in tip-top condition. He'd gone up into the mountains for most of the day, and left later that afternoon.

And that concluded the thrilling episode of summer excitement.

Now fall had come on, and the trees donned their flaming mantle of gold and orange and red, showering the small mountain town with dizzying displays of color. The air took on that warning nip that made everyone rush the last of the outdoor chores that had been neglected under the summer heat. Many times Cloud was tasked with raking up the fallen leaves, which only gave the wind something to play with as he toiled, grumbling.

Fall always had a slightly bittersweet feel to it in his mind, since it meant the end of summer days and the freedom to do nothing all day and sleep afterwards. It also meant - and this is where all the 'bitter' came from - the return of school. Though that wasn't so bad for Cloud as others might think, since it meant he'd get to spend more time near Tifa while still safely away from her father.

The coming of autumn also meant one more thing: Halloween - and that's where all the 'sweet' came from. Every kid loved the holiday and participated in it with great cheer and somewhat sadistic glee at scaring all their friends - except Cloud.

If there's one thing that can truly said about Cloud, it was that he didn't scare easily. It wasn't something that he worked on and he didn't consider himself particularly brave (though others, especially his mother, would disagree with that assessment) he was just one of those people that were very sturdy in matters of startlement.

Not from him would anyone get a whole-body flinch, or frightened gasp. Not from him could any decent reaction be gained above a slight flinch, followed by a piercing blue glare. He didn't even make a sound, aside from a a sharp intake of breath, or a disapproving hum.

No, indeed, he was quite the unsatisfying target, as well his mother could attest. For whatever reason, the stalwart ten-year-old didn't scare easily. His mother had no worry of nightmares fueled by scary movies, since Cloud barely batted an eyelash at the jump-scares so favored by the genre. Once, she'd snuck up on him and went "RAR!" grabbing his shoulders suddenly during a tense moment of such a movie.

He didn't jump. Hadn't even done more than blink, then lean forward, fix her with a stern look and ask, "What are you doing?"

Just like his father.

Not to mention that Cloud just simply couldn't see the attraction behind Halloween. Why in the world would he want to dress up like some freak in a costume that would be uncomfortable and scratchy just for a handful of candy? Besides, he hated all the costume ideas given to him.

"Oooh, I know just what you should be!" said his mother one day. "You can go as a chocobo!"

Oh yeah. It'd been a GREAT idea at the time. Little did he know, the rest of the town would never let him live it down. Tifa was of no help either.

"Cloud, I know what you should be this year for Halloween!" she'd exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "You can be a storm cloud! Just wear black clothes and fill up a water gun, and it'd be perfect! Your hair could even be the lightning!"

He'd die from puns before the candy ever got a chance to give him a heart attack.

No, Cloud wasn't a Halloween person, though he did enjoy carving pumpkins and won many contests. It was one of the few artistic things he enjoyed doing and his mother always let him go at it all on his own, knowing that after a lot of lip-biting and hours of scrunching his brow, a masterpiece would be born.

It was always curious, though, that he insisted on using the largest carving knife to do the job instead of the small, flimsy saw blade provided in the first kit. No one could argue with the results, though. The kid had talent.

But the rest of the holiday was simply lost on him. At his mother's insistence - which made him question the depth of her sanity, for what mother would encourage such a thing - he toured several haunted houses in the name of good fun. Though, how having the pants scared off of you was supposed to be 'fun' he had no idea. Cars were fun. Playing 'knight' was fun. But what was so fun and enjoyable in a plastic skeleton draped with plastic worms?

Many costumed people were disappointed in those haunted mazes. Upon seeing the young blond, strolling along with his hands in his pockets, blue eyes alert and scanning, they'd grin behind their fiendish masks and huddle in their uncomfortable holes and then spring forth as the boy reached just that right _spot_, leaping out and thrashing their fearsome talons or chitinous, segmented carapaces, unleashing the well-rehearsed roar/growl/hiss/moan/gurgle.

Cloud was always somewhat amused when people jumped out of the walls in the haunted mansions, flailing away as if at war with themselves, latex claws flapping in the air and paper-machete exoskeletons teetering on their backsides as they convulsed in a horror-suggesting manner. Several times a 'monster' would jump out right in front of him and Cloud would politely wait until the actor had finished gyrating and stroll on, unfazed. Behind him, many a dismayed and disheartened volunteer would crawl back into their hole and wait for the next - and hopefully, more satisfying - victim.

Though outwardly appearing totally unfazed, Cloud knew that he wasn't entirely immune to the festive air that seemed increasingly bent on making him scream. Every time he went into a haunted house or pass through an obviously rigged maze, he'd feel a slight tension in his shoulders that only abated when he was safe and clear. But the tension, subtle and plucking at his nerves, never made him disgrace himself. Sure, he'd jump back from pure reflex just like anyone else if something popped out at him unexpectedly, but he didn't scream at every monster or balk and reach for his mother's hand in a bloody hallway lit with strobe lights. At such times the tension would increase sharply, like a knife point on his nerves, and a hand would collapse into a fist, ready for action, or a foot would twitch, barely stopped from lashing out.

Then the tension would ease and he's stuff his hands in his pockets and keep walking, always the same pace. The only concession he ever made in this regard is when, just exiting a haunted house, a chainsaw roared to life from what seemed right behind his left ear. A full-out sprint from pure startlement made his mother laugh for several minutes, during which he gave her, the other parents, the other children, the man with the chainsaw and the 'zombie goat' a bona-fide death glare.

The goat got a very thorough stare-down. It'd been eying his hair with great interest as it nibbled on a wisp of straw.

No, Cloud did not scare easily. In fact, it was widely believed in the town that he didn't scare at all, not in the way Halloween was all about, with screaming and adrenaline and pushing your friends behind you while running from Dan the grocery cashier dressed up as a cannibalistic, chain-swirling maniac. His fearlessness had become well known by his tenth Halloween, and something of a competition had been set up amongst all the haunted-house makers and his ever-friendly peer group to try and scare his pants off.

It started pretty tame at first. Putting plastic bugs in the bowl of candy or a fake skeleton in his bed, just before he turned in for the night. Both these traps, gleefully laid out by his mother, were found the next day, totally disregarded.

One night, his mother really turned it up a notch. In the middle of the night, Cloud heard his door creak open. Sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he saw the dim outline of a figure standing in his doorway, utterly silent but for the raspy breathing. The motionless figure wore a long white nightgown - one that he recognized - and the long, dark hair was flipped over their face, obscuring their identity.

After a few frozen seconds of staring, the figure whispered in a strained, rasping voice, "Die... you... will die..."

Cloud gave his mother a skeptical look. "Mom, I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Ms. Strife whipped off her wig and gave him a scowl. "All that preparation! You are just no fun this time of year!"

Yawning, Cloud nodded. "Yeah. I know."

The next morning, there were no less than five rubber snakes on his bed with him. One, a particularly well-painted variety of cobra, was set up right in front of his face, so the first thing he saw in the morning were great, glistening fangs, poised to strike.

Ever so polite, he collected them and gave them back to his mom over breakfast.

That's when the rest of the townsfolk got in on the scheme. It was nothing big, not like some giant conspiracy, but Cloud's mother was wont to talk to a few folks in town, and they eagerly joined in the fun.

One day, his mother sent him to the store to collect something and as he walked in, he saw a table laden with new Halloween decorations. Mr. McHugh, the store owner, saw Cloud and smiled at him around his pipe.

"Hullo there, Cloud. Like the new decor?"

Cloud shrugged. It was more of the same to him, smoldering orange and glittery purple tablecloth. Giant spiders, snakes, and the bloody head of a dead man. A severed hand lay next to a battery-operated gargoyle, and a ceramic bowl shaped like mummy wrappings held several pieces of candy. A sign, drawn in red marker and meant to look like blood, said, "Please take one!"

"It's cool," Cloud offered, remembering his manners.

Mr. McHugh smiled. "Feel free to take a piece." When Cloud hesitated he waved his pipe at the boy encouragingly. "Go on. That's what it's there for."

"Thank you." He reached for the bowl.

"GIT YER HANDS OFF ME CANDY, BOY!" the head boomed at him.

Cloud reacted instinctively, jerking his hand away and taking a long step back, hands half way up to punch this assailant when he realized it was merely one of the neighbors teenage son. The boy and Mr. McHugh chuckled but Cloud merely shot them both a reproving stare. Now that the ruse was up, he could see that a hole had been cut in the table, allowing the boy to sit underneath with his head poking through. The tablecloth had covered the rest of him from sight. Sauntering down the aisles, he collected what he came for, handed a slightly baffled McHugh the money, and then strode out, collecting a free piece of candy from the bowl despite the head's protests.

Later on, Cloud would learn that the whole table was just a new decor at the store and Mr. McHugh was paying the teen 50 gil to sit there and scare the pants off people for a few days. Cloud, being the first test subject, had cast a disappointed gloom on the cheerful businessman until John's mother came into the store. The whole town had heard her scream.

Things got a little silly after that. Though part of it was just to scare Cloud, in truth, everyone really got into the Halloween spirit and many people couldn't wait to try out their new trick/prank/lawn scare/surprise on the unmovable blond. Once, Mr. Ledbetter asked Cloud to pick up a hammer a little ways away under a tree, as he repaired the siding on his house.

Once Cloud picked up the hammer, he saw the string attached to it and a giant rubber vampire bat straight out of a horror movie crashed down from the tree. It was pretty good. Even had a sound effect of a snarling lion to go with it. After jerking back on reflex from the intrusion of something into his space, he merely gave it a sardonic look and walked away. Mr. Ledbetter spent the better part of an hour after that muttering to himself and trying to make the bat more scary. Eventually, a new victim walked along and their satisfying yelp was followed by Ledbetter's laughter.

And so the week of Halloween continued. Now and then neighbors - who before were perfectly content to ignore Cloud - asked him to pick up this, or open that, just as they'd ask any other potential victim, and a snake would fly at him or a skeleton wearing a top hat would pop out at him or a foam axe painted to look heavy and rusty would fall on him. Once, on Halloween Eve, Ryan, Eric, and John leaped out at him from a small dark nook between houses. All of them were dressed up with makeup to look like monsters that had fought a lawnmower - and lost.

Cloud merely gave them an icy glare and walked on by.

By the time Halloween itself had come around, Cloud gave a sigh of relief. Only one more night to live through and there'd be no more pranks, no more silly scares and no more cheesy Halloween monsters. At long last, he'd be able to sleep through the night without any pesky interruptions.

Trick-or-treating took a half hour to accomplish, Nibelheim was so small. Cloud went as a pirate, mainly because it was easy to throw together and he got to carry a plastic sword. A striped shirt and some ragged work pants, a bandana, hat and sword, and he was good to go. He adamantly refused to let his mother wire the fake parrot to his shoulder.

After a quick round of trick-or-treating (but carefully avoiding Tifa's house, which made a slight pang in his chest) Cloud gratefully collapsed into a chair. He shucked off his shoes, ditched the hat and sat back, sighing in relief. Simple or not, costumes were always a chore to wear. Opening an eye, he glanced at the burgeoning bag that held his loot and grinned. It was a good haul this year.

The doorbell rang.

"Honey, can you get it?" his mother's voice called from the depths of the house. "Probably just the last trick-or-treaters."

With a heavy and dramatic sigh - which was wasted since there was no one to hear - Cloud pushed himself up and wearily ambled over to the door. He grabbed the half-empty candy bowl as he passed by. The porch lights had already been turned off but that didn't stop the persistent trick-or-treaters, so he didn't bother flipping them back on again. Besides, he could already see the glow of the movement-activated floodlight that was a must in Nibelheim to deter the more adventurous wildlife from raiding the trash cans.

Cloud opened the door, saying through a stifled yawn, "Okay, there should be enough for everyone-"

One person occupied the porch and he felt his heart flip. He'd recognize Tifa's silky hair anywhere. She stood with her back to him, still and silent as she faced the Halloween night.

"Tifa?" He took a step out onto the porch towards, then stopped, his instincts clamoring at him. Something was wrong. Her hair didn't look right. It was stringy and wet, clumped together with some kind of sticky substance. The way she stood, listing to one side like certain bones weren't working, was strange, just off-kilter enough to be be out of place but subtle enough to not be noticeable until you got close.. She was so still, it seemed like she wasn't even breathing.

Suddenly, he didn't want to be out onto the porch anymore.

"Tifa?" He took another hesitant step, licking his lips with a tongue that suddenly felt like cotton in his equally dry mouth. Like something cold and wet sliding down the back of his neck, he felt the tension creep into his shoulders, drawing the muscles taut and quivering, ready for action. He'd come to be truly sick of that sensation, but this time it was different. This time, it slipped into his belly, making breathing difficult.

It wasn't like he was _scared_ or anything, even though it took a deep breath and a shake of his head to reassure himself of that. No, it was just... late, was all. And the moon was too darn bright and the shadows much too deep and... and he'd had too much candy!

Yes, that's right. Sugar high. Heh heh.

All those self assurances didn't smooth down the hackles on the back of his neck, though. Gritting his teeth and mentally scolding himself for being a silly coward, he took another half-step and reached out to touch Tifa's shoulder when she made a sound.

His hand swerved as if acting on its own, diving down and back to clutch the forgotten candy bowl in his arms.

That _sound..._ He shuddered.

It had been utterly _inhuman,_ like she was trying to gurgle and speak at the same time. Hearing that alien, awful sound coming from _her_, from _Tifa,_ made his blood turn cold. As he stood there, shivering from a chill other than the Halloween night, she made a sighing/gurgle sound again. His heart beat definitely picked up after that.

_This is ridiculous_, he thought. _It's Tifa. Only Tifa, the most wonderful, amazing, kindest person in the whole world. Why should I be scared of her? It's just Tifa. Wonderful, incredible, kind, vibrant Tifa._ He kept up the stern mental scolding and reached out to touch her shoulder. "Are you okay? Do you need to sit dow-"

That's when the motion-activated lights went off.

Oh crap.

He did _not_ just jump. This was getting ridiculous. He sighed. Maybe he was just tired. That had to be what was making him so jumpy...

...and definitely NOT the fact with the lights off, the whole scene seemed a lot more spooky. He'd seen horror movies. He wasn't _stupid._ It was moments like these where a likeable but stupid side character was killed off. The fact that all that didn't have trouble him the slightest bit in the past didn't matter at the moment.

This was _Tifa._

Something had to be wrong for her to be acting like this. Something truly dire for her to behave so oddly and by all that was holy, he was going to _fix _it!

...It would also be a great help if his heart rate came down just a tad. Definitely would make it easier. He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "Tifa it's kinda late and I'm tired, so-"

"Clb...clbd... _Cloud..._" she gurgled. She made a few very unpleasant, coughing sounds that were much too _wet_ sounding to be healthy and something dark and gooey splashed to the porch at her feet.

That's when he stopped being afraid. The tension in his shoulders suddenly becoming taut panic and desperate concern. Taking a sidestep around her, he grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. "Are you hurt? Do you ne-"

Oh god. Oh _god!_

_It wasn't Tifa!_

The..._ thing's_ face had half rotten away, leaving gleaming white cheekbone exposed and dead, gray-green flesh glistened in the moonlight. Her lips, always jumping to smile, had gone the cold dead gray of a corpse and her jaw hung at an odd angle. The amber eyes that stole his breath away were dull and lifeless, their warmth gone, never coming back. Not even the blood on her chin or dribbling over her eyes was bright, but had gone the dark red, nearly black, of a long-dead corpse. The reason why she stood at such an oddly canted angle became clear as his eyes flicked over the protruding, grimy bone at her hip. His horrified mind barely registered the torn and dirt-smeared clothing.

Whatever this thing was he knew one thing for certain: It wasn't Tifa anymore.

He stared, terror blocking his throat, and all he could do was make a choked gurgling sound as she shuffled a half step toward him. And then, in that gross, wet voice, blood burbling over her lower lip and dripping onto her shirt, she said, _"Cloud..."_

Cloud screamed.

He backed up several steps until he tripped over something and fell down hard. Even then, he scrabbled backward on his elbows, still screaming. He screamed as he threw the candy bowl in her path, _Musketeers_ flying everywhere. He screamed as he fought with the porch chair to get away. He screamed louder with each horrible, shuffling step the creature took toward him. He kept screaming until his back hit the porch railing and there was nowhere left to run. _It wasn't Tifa!_

It stopped just as his feet, looming over him, head lolling while more cold blood dripped from her lips. The Nibelheim night was filled with Cloud's panicked soprano.

Then the porch lights turned on. There was a sound of feet thumping across wooden floorboards and then his mother threw open the door, dressed in a bathrobe and holding a shotgun. She blinked at the odd scene before recognition filled her eyes. Grinning, quickly stashing the gun behind the door, put her hands on her hips and started laughing.

Cloud stared at her in shock and indignation, which made her laugh harder. She leaned against the doorway, laughing.

Then he realized that _the zombie was laughing too!_

He sat up, looking at creature standing above him. Yes, it - _she_ was laughing! It was Tifa after all, done up in really good zombie makeup. The bone at her hip was from a steak or lamb roast, wired into her clothing really well. With the right shuffle, it would look like it was broken.

Tifa laughed even harder at his expression, swaying on her feet until she, too, fell on her butt. She wiped tears of mirth from her cheeks, smearing her makeup, as his emotions and expression fluctuated between relief, surprise, and fury.

What dignity he had left rallied together and he shot both the women of his life a deadly glare. Their laughter redoubled. Standing, he haughtily brushed nonexistent dust from his shirt and pants and stalked past them. The two were now on the ground, laughing too hard to speak. His glare became positively _icy_ as they high-fived.

He stomped his way upstairs, tore off his costume and dove into bed. There, where no one could see, he crossed his arms and huffed. Much as he wanted though, the recent adrenaline rush wouldn't let him sleep. Below, he could hear his mother talking to Tifa and the front door closed. A flash of anger went through him and he turned on his side...

...Which prompted him to warily eye the shadows of his room. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, that closet didn't look very friendly.

"This is stupid," he scolded himself. "It's just the closet. The same closet that I've always lived with. There's nothing in there except dust and clothes. Now stop being an idiot. There's absolutely nothing in there. Right?"

"Right," he agreed with himself.

After a few moments of contemplating the shadows, he pulled the covers over his head.

Just in case.


	9. I Cooked For You

_(Author's Note: I am so sorry! All of my readers are so wonderfully and I neglect you horribly. I had a LOT of Real Life stuff that prevented me from sitting down and hammering this out, and the biggest problem was exams. This one here is actually your November update, so by January, I'll still owe you all a two updates. I'm so sorry I fell behind, but please consider this my New Year's gift to you!_

_This chapter I'm especially pleased with, as it doesn't have Tifa and Cloud directly interacting in it. This is how I think their relationship would've been like when they were younger, with Cloud always focused on her and Tifa rarely if ever knowing about it. I've also put a parallel story in here between Cloud and his mother (you'll know it when you read it) that I'm very proud of and owe all of it to my muse._

_Once again, all prompts are most welcome! The next one will be Christmas oriented and I know there's a LOT of household traditions for Christmas - so share them and it might end up in the next chapter!)_

**...I Cooked For You**

It was a well-known fact that Mr. Lockhart could not cook. In fact, this inability was quietly regarded as something of a town joke.

One might say that this curt assessment was based on trite stereotypes regarding the prowess (or lack thereof) of men in the kitchen. One might say that such an ultimatum was entirely unfair, since cooking is a wildly subjective field and there are many ways to achieve the same goal. One might say that just because there was no longer a woman in the house, it didn't mean that cooking was forever a lost skill in the household.

But all those would be wrong, because the facts were plain to see. After the fifth time Mr. Lockhart had to run outside, holding a smoking and charred item, burnt well beyond recognition, there was no getting around the sad fact. Mr. Lockhart could not cook. Period.

At first, the townspeople shrugged and smiled, but a little sadly, since his bumbling efforts were a painful reminder of the loss of Mrs. Lockhart. It wasn't just the stinging smoke that brought tears to Mr. Lockhart's eyes as he rushed yet another casserole outside before the smoke alarms went off. Still, people smiled and chuckled and offered increasingly simple recipes to help tide the family over until he found his cooking rhythm.

As the months went by, it became readily apparent that he was as hopeless as ever when it came to cooking anything more complex that soup or chili, and it was the appearance of Tifa, getting thinner and stumbling after her father, coughing from the smoke, that broke the respectful distance their neighbors maintained.

Food started appearing on the Lockhart doorstep, wholesome dishes that arrived in a variety of Tupperware and bowls. Casseroles, rice and lamb, stew, even a neatly sliced roast, were all quietly placed on the step and their owners proudly sidled away, ever anonymous. All these offerings were gratefully accepted and Mr. Lockhart did his best to reciprocate in any way he could. Being a carpenter, he plied his trade well. Inside a pan once holding a lasagna there would be several freshly carved wooden spoons. A sealed Tupperware would be opened to reveal a beautifully carved wooden bowl inside. These gifts were never returned and no one said anything about them - it was of silent agreement that Lockhart's pride would not accept the food without something given in return.

Things continued on this way for a while, and it soon became evident that Mr. Lockhart's cooking skill was improving. Either that, or Tifa was a fast learner. It was suspected that both conjectures were true. The unofficial arrangement was working well and the offerings began to taper off a little as weeks went by without a single scorched casserole being rushed into the banks of snow. Finally, nearly a year since Mrs. Lockhart's death, it seemed that Mr. Lockhart had managed the tricky art of cooking, to some extent.

However, as the days ticked by and grew colder, it was impossible to note that the meager cooking talents of the Lockhart household were woefully inadequate for Blessings Day. It was that famous holiday that required a turkey with all the dressings, chestnuts, potatoes and yams, seasoning and spice and every kind of vegetable. Blessings Day was a cooking juggernaut that hovered in the future like an impending doom, looming over the Lockhart's valiant efforts menacingly. When the air would be filled with delicious aromas and every table groaned under a bountiful harvest, everyone knew the Lockhart's would be having the same stew recipie that father and daughter had managed to conquer. The absence of Tifa's mother was never more painfully felt.

A week before the holiday, someone left anonymous letters in every mailbox. Each neighbor (which was pretty much everyone, since Nibelhiem was so small) were to prepare the item written on the bottom of the letter and leave it at the Lockhart doorstep. This year, the first without a wife and mother, the stricken family would still be able to celebrate like everyone else and, perhaps, be able to count the blessings they had, not the ones they had lost.

Unfortunately, one particular mother took a good look at the whole situation, indulged in thoughtful consideration for a few minutes and then made an ultimatum to her son.

"You're going to learn how to cook," said Ms. Strife.

Cloud, currently busy with a video game, gave the usual response children do when involved in extremely important matters. "Uh huh."

His mother clapped her hands together, making him jump. A squeal and a crash from the screen heralded the 'game over' screen. "Oh good, so glad to see such enthusiasm! Wash your hands and we'll get started."

Too late, Cloud realized he'd fallen into a trap. "Wait-"

"Ah ah ah, now what did I teach you Cloud?" his mother admonished. "Never go back on your promises."

Cloud had not realized he'd made a promise.

Before he could point that out, however, his mother said, "Come on now, go wash up. Hup hup hup!" She clapped her hands at him and, grumbling, he stood and dragged his feet on the way to the kitchen.

By the time he had sufficiently washed his hands, a small sugar pumpkin dropped into the sink. His mother grinned at his cocked eyebrow. "Wash it off good," she said brightly.

Cloud eyed the small pumpkin. "_What,_" he demanded, "is _this?"_

"It's a sugar pumpkin."

He made a 'please-elaborate-further' grunt. He warily rubbed a finger on the small pumpkin and examined the finger tip for any sign of alteration.

Ms. Strife tsked and shooed him aside to wash the pumpkin herself. "They're sweeter and have a finer grain for making pumpkin pie."

He visibly up at that. "You're making pumpkin pie?"

"_You're_ making pumpkin pie," she said, and ignored his crestfallen expression. "I bought more than one pumpkin, in case of any mistakes."

Cloud sighed. Sometimes, his mother's train of logic moved so fast he was left in the dust. "Why am I making a pumpkin pie?" he asked. There may have been a trace of sarcasm in his voice. Maybe.

"It's for the Lockhart's," she said. "The whole town is pitching in since the cooking isn't up to par for the holiday just yet."

He went very still at that. This would be the first Blessings Day for Tifa without a mother. And Blessings Day just wasn't the same without some good, homemade pumpkin pie. This dessert would probably make a world of difference to her. For a second, he vividly imagined Tifa taking a bite of pie, amber eyes delighted and full of happiness.

"So what do I do?" he asked, rolling up his sleeves.

His mother carefully hid her smile by turning away. "Here, wash these." She plunked several more small pumpkins into the sink. "Don't use any soap, just rub them down."

When this was done, she helped him transfer them all to the cutting board on the counter. Then she went over to a drawer that held all sorts of miscellaneous kitchen stuff and, after some wrestling with the contents, produced a hand saw.

Cloud looked from the handsaw to his mother and smiled. "You are the coolest mom ever."

She laughed. "Didn't think your mother cooked with hand tools, mmm? Well it's the best way to cut up pumpkins. A smooth knife will slip."

Surprisingly, Cloud found himself having fun as his mother went to work on a pumpkin with the handsaw. The tool must've been incredibly sharp, because it only took five strokes to slice the squash down the middle, stem and all. After two more pumpkins, his mother handed the handsaw to him and she let him saw up the rest. It was a little irksome to have her hovering over him, insisting he go _slower_ and be more _careful_. He was ten! He could handle a saw, for crying out loud.

When the pumpkins were cut with no loss of fingers, the two made quick work picking out the seeds. Then came the tricky part. His mother provided him with a spoon and was directed to scoop out the 'guts' of the pumpkin. With two quick scoops, she demonstrated, and waited for him to do the rest.

After the hundredth time the guts slipped messily off his spoon, Cloud lost his patience. Throwing the spoon into the sink with a loud clatter, he pounced on the nearest squash, dug in with both hands, lifted the entire squishy mass out of the pumpkin, and flung it all into the trash. A few more repetitions and all the pumpkins were cleaned of their guts, with only a few fingernail marks to show for the technique.

He glared at his mother, who was doing her best not to laugh. "That spoon," he said carefully, "is _evil."_

She nodded rapidly and told him to wash his hands in a squeaky voice before running out of the room. From the depths of the house, he heard hysterical laughter.

As he washed his hands sullenly, he grumbled, _"Mothers."_

Once his hands were clean enough (his mother made him wash again to clean out pumpkin splooge from under his fingernails) she took a step back and began issuing commands like a over-zealous general on the field.

"Now go into the lower right cupboard and get a pot. No, a bigger one. Bigger. Reach back. There! Now get the pumpkins and put them in the pot. Not like that. Turn that one and you'll fit two more halves in. No the other way. No, the - exactly!"

"Can't you help with some of this?" he asked. He'd begun to get the creeping suspicion that she was enjoying herself immensely as he scrambled about the kitchen.

She gave him that patented innocent look mother's give their children when they're exploiting them. "Why no, dear. How else will you learn to do it on your own?" She smiled at him again and his eyes narrowed. "Now, fill that pot with some water and put the other pot inside. Not that one, the one with holes in it. The steamer. Very good!"

In short order, the pumpkin halves were all steaming away in three pots. Why his mother had three pots to do the same job, Cloud did not know. Nor did he question. Mothers were inscrutable creatures with their own wayward methods and he knew enough by now that understanding them was a futile effort. Just further proof that wisdom comes with age.

It took thirty minutes before Ms. Strife declared the pumpkins sufficiently soft enough to skin. By then, the kitchen had filled with delicious scent of cooking pumpkin and Cloud's mouth was watering.

"We're going to skin them?" Cloud eyed the steaming vegetable bits warily.

"Sure. Look." With a total disregard for the heat, his mother splayed her fingers out on one of the halves, dug her fingers in a bit and drew her fingers together. The tough skin of pumpkin folded up like wet cardboard. "Easy. Now you try."

A few seconds later, Cloud was nursing burnt fingertips in his mouth.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry sweety!" Before he knew what was happening, she'd grabbed his wrists and hauled him over to the sink. He was pretty sure his feet never touched the ground in between. As vibrant and funny as his mother could be, she became one crazy mother hen when he got so much as a pinprick.

Cold water poured over his red fingers and he frowned. "Ow."

"I'm so sorry, baby, that one must've held the steam in! Oh, my poor darling!" She started to kiss his forehead and stroke his hair and he thought that was quite enough. He was old enough to know what dignity was and do his best to preserve what little he had.

"I'm okay, mom, it doesn't hurt that bad." And this was the truth. Thanks to the mountain-spring-fed water from the tap, his fingers had lost all feeling a while ago. If he kept them under the icy stream much longer, 'meat popsicle' would be the only term one could use to describe them.

"Oh, okay." She let go of him, but continued to hover. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He frowned at her - she knew he hated being coddled. "Shouldn't we be starting the next step?"

Sighing, she flung her hands in the air. "Alright, alright! Can you blame a mother for being concerned for her only child?" She scurried off before he could speak, leaving him at the sink muttering about mother hens.

Once she was gone and safely puttering over the pumpkins, he inspected his fingers. A few of his fingertips would have blisters on them, but overall, not bad. In the perpetual curiosity of children, he poked a blister and marveled with grotesque fascination at the way the fluid inside squished around.

_RNNNNGNGGGGSHHHHRRRRRRRRRR!_

Cloud felt his feet lift from the ground as a roaring, screeching, howling wail started right behind his right ear. He stumbled backwards, one arm flung out to brace himself against the corner of two counters. His heart hammered in his ears as adrenaline flushed through him with a heady warmth.

The sound vanished a suddenly as it had begun and his wild eyes focused on his mother, sheepishly removing the container from the blender. Laughter burbled on the edges of her words as she said, "Sorry, honey. I didn't think it'd scare you."

"Afff eeeeggggg sssssshhh uhhhhh," Cloud said.

His mother snickered at that and he glared at her, one heart clutching his chest as he sank to the floor. This did nothing to dissuade her, however. In fact, she started laughing even harder. She put the rest of the mushed up pumpkin into the blender and started laughing more when he jumped as she turned it on. The blender stuttered and fell silent as her finger slipped off the button, her laughter coming in convulsing shudders. She barely managed to scrap the pulp into a wire colander to let the water drain in the sink. It took her three tries to set a timer.

Cloud stood, anger rising to replace startlement, and adjusted his clothing with furious jerks. "It isn't that funny!"

His mother put a delicate hand to her throat and just kept laughing. In spite of himself, he felt his own giggles starting to rise and he had to fight to keep a stern expression. Ms. Strife's hand landed on a forgotten pumpkin skin and her laughter cut out for a second as she raised it, surprised.

A suddenly wicked grin spread across her face and, with two quick pokes, she made eye-holes in the skin, draped it on her face, and hunched over like a witch, hands out in front of her like claws. Cloud gaped, laughing at the ridiculous images she made.

"A witch, a witch, an ugly witch am I! I love to eat little boys with unruly hair! Ha!" She ran after him and he ducked away quickly, shouting as he did.

"You're a madwoman!"

"I'm a witch, a white witch and I want a face to replace this old one!"

The chase circled the kitchen table three times, with Cloud toppling a chair or three to slow her down. He couldn't believe it when she cleared the chairs in a single leap. The hunt went into the living room where they circled the couch about fifteen times, laughing and cackling and throwing pillows at each other. Twice Cloud fell and suffered the Tickle Torture before he managed to squirm away, tears of mirth in his eyes. At some point the 'witch' lost her wrinkly old face, the pumpkin rind lost in the scuffle, but neither of them noticed.

Ultimately, pillows saved Cloud from total defeat. Pillows and an old blanket that tangled the witch's limbs for a few seconds, enabling Cloud to beat her about the head and shoulders with a flimsy pillow a few times before she grabbed his ankles and sucked him under too.

There was a wild flailing of arms and pillows while Cloud gasped for breath between laughter and his mother shrilly declared how she was going to eat up the little boy, and invite all her white witches of the mountain to share little boy stew.

Just when the battle was at the deciding moment, when Cloud would have to escape or wet his pants from uncontrollable laughter, the timer dinged.

Witch and stew-destined froze for a second, the burst into action.

Cloud was quicker on his feet, up and racing for the kitchen with the speed of thought. But his mother reached out, snagged the waistband of his pants and jerked him back into the mess of pillows. By the time he'd flailed to the top of the fluffy trap, she was already in the kitchen. He got there just as she grabbed the timer, a wild grin on her face.

The leaned against each other, the last giggles escaping them. At last, they pushed apart and inspected the draining pulp. A finger prod proved it to be dry enough for the next step.

Cloud was set to mixing the ingredients, which proved enough for five pies, while his mother made the pie crust. They worked together well, Cloud consulting the recipe book every fifteen seconds and his mother crafting a perfect, flaky pie crust on pure instinct and experience. The oven _whuffed_ now and then as it was brought up to heat. The coal and wood stoves of the past had been replaced by the supposedly 'clean' energy of Mako reactors.

Soon, Cloud was delicately pouring the mixture into the first pie crust. "Are you _sure_ this will get harder?" The mixture was amazingly runny.

"Yes, yes, I'm very sure. Now be careful to not tip it too much or... that will happen." Some of the mixture had spilled over and the perfect crust edge was a loss. His mother tsked.

"Ah well, it'll still be good. We can eat it ourselves. Consider this your first run. Now, get it to the oven and we'll have some dinner while it bakes."

The unexpectedly runny mixture slopped over a few times and he had to take painstakingly delicate steps to ferry the pie over to the stove. Despite his mothers reassurances, he couldn't suppress a pang of disappointment.

"I know you wanted it to be perfect the first time around, sweety," she said, stirring the soup, "But these things happen in baking. Besides, look at how much we have here! We can always make another."

"Hnnngh." Cloud sat at the table, one cheek propped up in a hand, looking glum. "What about the rest of the pies then?"

She shrugged, adding a little spice to the pot. "We can't eat them all. We can give them to the neighbors, so they can celebrate Blessings Day as well."

He gave her a questioning look, which she didn't see. He could never understand generosity in their near-destitute state. It was the kind of act he supposed people would call courageous or brave. But to him, it just seemed odd.

"You'll get better," she said, sliding into a seat next to him. A steaming cup of soup was laid before him. "It took me time to get as good as I am today." She smiled warmly at him as he conveyed a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

They ate in silence for a while. Then, Cloud spoke. "What was your first pie like?"

She raised a golden eyebrow. "When my mother was teaching me, I-"

"No, not that far back." Cloud pushed around some of his soup as she stared at him in surprise.

"If this is another age joke, I'll have you know that my father had hunted all the mammoths down by the time I was born."

He chuckled. "No, I meant... What was the first meal you cooked... when dad was here?"

She went very still. For a moment, he feared she wasn't even breathing, then she drew in a shuddering breath and gave him a wan smile. "Well, that was so long ago, but I'll never forget it."

Cloud set down his spoon and leaned in closer. She didn't often talk about his father and even at his young age he knew it still hurt her to summon his memory.

She raised her mug of tea and took a sip, as if to brace herself for the story. "It was our first winter together. Your father, at the time, worked in the mine, down the mountain. Oh, he was good at it." She smiled. "He was always _so_ strong. He could carry an entire sack of coal over each shoulder and do it all day."

She fell silent, a faint smile on her lips as she remembered. "Well, our first winter together was very hard, even for this high up in the mountains. It was easier to tunnel a road under the snow than to clear it off the top. Oh, it was cold. We didn't have the Mako reactor back then and we all had to keep warm with was coal back then, and trust me, you don't know how cold a coal fire can be with snow over your windows."

She smiled, took another sip of tea. "Well, I decided to make something warm for your father when he got home and so far all my cooked meals had been rather simple. I was a new wife, didn't know what the hell I was doing. So I decided to make a shepherd's pie." She grinned as he winced at the implications. "Yes, I have no idea what I was thinking. I didn't know that some of the ingredients had to be lightly cooked ahead of time, so they would be done at the same time when put in the oven. The first time I learned of this is when I looked it up in the cook book. It all looked simple enough, so I decided to do it."

She laughed at her own naivete. "I had this image in my head of this _perfect_ meal, like those old 'idealism' paintings that were so popular, you've seen the kind. Everything in those pictures looks warm and happy, with a whole family around the table and a delicious meal just waiting for a fork. I wanted a little slice of that heaven in my life, I wanted to make it happen for your father, something that only _I_ could give."

She took a sip of her cooling tea and leaned back in her chair. "Well the pie was a disaster, of course. I was elbow-deep in flower and frantic by the time your father got home. All the ingredients were scattered about the kitchen in various states of not-cooked and that pie was _nowhere_ near to being done. When your father walked in he just looked around and said, 'Are we eating out tonight?'"

They both laughed. "And when he said that I just... burst into tears. I was so disappointed, that lovely, perfect-family image. Like I said, I was a new wife, and thought if I could do just this one, _stupid_ pie right, that image would always be mine."

She stopped suddenly, and even Cloud could sense the pang of anguish; that dream had been lost to war anyway, and no amount of perfect pies could put it back together. It took only a few seconds for her to recover. "So, there I am, covered in flour, bawling my eyes out, and your dad doesn't have a clue what to do. So after a while, he gets the whole story out of me and he starts laughing and says, 'Don't worry, love, I'll help you make it.'"

She smiled, her eyes gone distant and hazy with a beloved memory. "It took us hours to get it together. Even I knew more about cooking than him, and sometimes I had to go dashing to his rescue. The potatoes still boiled over, but somehow we managed to get it done. That pie came out of the oven at ten o'clock at night. We were so hungry by then, we ate the whole thing." Her smile grew, the saddest, yet most content smile Cloud had ever seen. "When we were done, your dad said it was the most delicious thing I'd ever made."

Silence fell as she lapsed into memory, eyes glistening at that sour cooking experiment that had become a treasured moment in her life. Cloud watched her, watched her eyes fill with exquisite emotion and he knew she still loved his father very much.

_BREEP-EEP. BREEP-EEP. BREEP-EEP._

The timer made them both jump and she smiled at him, no longer wandering in the past. "Go check the pie, sweety. Poke it with a knife, and if it comes out clean, it's good to eat."

He hopped off his chair and did as she instructed. The knife came out clean and it had indeed firmed up quite well in the oven. That wasn't the disappointing part.

"It looks like a chocobo turd," Cloud said unhappily. His mother had to stifle a laugh, but it stuck in her throat and made her voice squeaky.

"Oh, it's not... not quite that bad, dear."

It was, though. It was lumpy and had several pockmarks in it where air bubbles had risen to the surface.

"Did you... thoroughly tap the pan like I told you to? To get the air bubbles out?" she asked.

"You never told me that."

"Yes, I did sweety."

"Well I didn't hear it over that, wailing thing!" he gestured wildly at the mixing bowl. "I can't give this to Tifa - I mean," he stumbled over his words when he saw her smiling, "The uh, the Lockharts. This looks like a disaster!"

His mother sighed. "Well, no argument there, it is fright to behold." She scooped up a fingerful of pie filling and tasted it. "Tastes fine though. Maybe this one will be our own fridge experiment. Go on, let's make another. But we've only time for one more, before it's your bedtime, sweety!" She turned to pull out another pie tin.

"No," said Cloud. He had his hands on his hips and his chin thrust forward, the way he always did when he wasn't going to move on a decision.

She faced him, blinking. "Excuse me?"

"I'm giving Tifa the best pumpkin pie." He glared up at her, stubborn as ever. "Only the best."

Her expression shaded from incredulity to something else, almost like a sadness. "Why?"

He thought about it for a second, the thoughts flickering through his blue eyes like hawks across the sky. Then, "Because she deserves it."

A slow smile spread across his mother's lips and she nodded. "Well then. Until the perfect one. Deal?" She ruffled his hair and he grinned. "Let's get to work, little one."

**xXxXx**

His mother fell asleep when the fourth pie was in the oven. The second one had been too runny and he'd checked it too often. It had baked lopsided, almost over the crust on one side and nearly showing the crust on the other. The third had developed splits in the filling and Cloud refused to deem it fit for Tifa's table.

He toiled well through midnight and his mother fell asleep on the couch. He covered her with a blanket, and baked on.

By the fourth pie, he'd become quite good at making the crust, pouring the mixture and gently conveying it to the oven. His work slowed down as yawns grew in length and frequency but he soldiered on, determined that he would give Tifa this one thing, this piece of home she'd lost with her mother. She would have it, and he, Cloud, would see to it that she got it.

A truly noble goal.

It would've been even more noble if he hadn't fallen asleep next to his mother while the fourth, perfect, pie cooled on the counter.

**xXxXx**

Cloud woke from bright sunlight. He blinked, winced, and turned away from the spearing rays. Next to him, his mother curled up under a blanket. He looked around, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was still early morning yet, and the sun had just reached the height to peer over the mountain peaks.

He yawned, pulled a blanket over him, snuggled down into some pillows, and closed his eyes.

A minute later he exploded from his cozy nest, with a gasped, "THE PIE!" His mother jerked awake with a snort.

"What?" she asked, voice still muzzy.

"What time is it? Oh my god, it's almost seven!"

"What's going on?" His mother sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Cloud?"

"I forgot to put the pie on their doorstep!"

She stared at him for a second, eyes wide. "There's a pie carrier in the third cupboard! Hurry!"

After a frantic morning that had no breakfast, they decorate the pie with whip cream and cinnamon, carefully placed the perfect pie in the carrier and Cloud rushed out the door as fast as slow, steady steps could be rushed.

The distance between his house and Tifa's never seemed longer or more treacherous. He glanced at the windows nervously.

One of the upper lights came on.

His foot came down on a loose stone and he nearly lost the pie right there. There was nothing for it but to grit his teeth and take his time.

At long last, he reached her doorstep, already laden with dishes of every kind. He carefully knelt, and laid the pie down...

...at the exact same time Tifa opened the door.

They stared at each other for several seconds, blue locked with amber and he finally stood, coughed and muttered, "Happy Blessings Day," before running back to his house.

"Did you get it there in time?" his mother asked.

Instead of answering, he rushed to the kitchen window that provided a view of the Lockhart's front door. Tifa was still gawping at the wealth of food on her doorstep and he grinned as she picked up his own offering.

And he would _never_ forget the smile of pure joy on her face when she saw that beautiful, perfect, pumpkin pie.

A little slice of heaven that he made just for her.


	10. I Got You A Gift

_(Author's Note: I said I wouldn't leave you guys hanging! Seriously, I couldn't stop writing if I wanted to, the ideas start keeping me up at night. O_O_

_Also, I forgot to add in the last update that the idea came from _Kurosaki girl 0890_! Thank you again! I'm so sorry I forgot to credit you earlier!_

_Also, I love all my wonderful readers for putting up with my delays and I hope it hasn't made anyone skip out, because there's a lot more fun on the way! The next one I will select from any prompts that are sent to me, either in review or PM, so send in those ideas!_

_The story takes a bit of a bitter turn for our little hero. In the game, he said he thought Tifa blamed him for the bridge incident and since I'm not writing this as an AU, this chapter was due in coming sooner or later.)_

**...I Got You a Gift**

As a general rule, Cloud couldn't ask for a better mother. His mom was vibrant, funny, sweet and sometimes impossibly over-worried about every scrape and scratch earned on the playground. She had accepted the quiet, reserved ways of her son in a stride and had that instinct only mothers seemed to possess of knowing when he needed some mothering and when it was best to leave him be. She was his confidant, his protector, his guardian angel, and his best friend. Other than forcing him to eat his vegetables and do chores, she was the best mother he could imagine anyone would ever want.

As a general rule.

Then there were the other times when his mother became the most fearsome, terrifying force he'd ever known. This didn't happen often, but when it did, he quailed before her wrath. Her blue eyes would become sharper than wind-honed ice. Her face grew just as razor-edged, the warm and comforting curves of a motherly face morphing into lines both ruthless and cutting as the judgement to come. It was that fell look he got only when he broke something by horsing around or when he'd gotten into yet another fight at school.

Like now.

His arms were crossed over his chest and his sullen expression was only emphasized by his cut lip when Ms. Strife opened the door. Cloud had the good sense to not rebelliously shake the teachers hand from his shoulder, but the rest of his body language made it exceedingly clear that was the one and only concession he would make.

Which won him exactly no points with his mother. In fact, if the foreboding chill was anything to judge by, he was entering negative integers.

Crap.

Ms. Strife turned that dire look on his teacher, who'd walked him across the very small town to his house after school. "Another fight," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

The teacher nodded, her pinched face even more sour-looking than usual. "The third time this week. One more and he'll be suspended from school."

"I see." His mother's gaze became, impossibly, even more sharp. Despite his rebellious mood, he flinched when that icy gaze flicked toward him. This wasn't going to be a good day.

In fact, he'd _known_ it wasn't going to be a good day when he flung himself at some kid during recess. He didn't even know who it was. The kid had taken his soccer ball. As far as Cloud was concerned, that constituted a declaration of war.

But from the look on his mom's face, he better start writing a peace treaty, and make sure the words _'unconditional surrender'_ was used a lot. She grabbed his shoulder, her fingers digging into his flesh enough to make him wince, and dragged him inside.

The instant the door slammed shut, she turned on him and gave him The Look.

Now, lets take a moment to fully appreciate this Look. Cloud wouldn't know it until he was much older, with daughters of his own, until he truly appreciate the craft and dedication that goes into a woman's Look. It wasn't just an expression, it was a force of will, handed down through the generations, a matrilineal secret that was carefully preserved and sparingly utilized - for good reasons. Reasons that Cloud was just now beginning to fully appreciate.

Some looks had the power to make a violent person decide to go befriend a tribe of cannibals than to mess with the owner of such a malevolent glance. Some looks could make an rioting mob part like a god-touched sea before a person that'd had _enough_ for the day. Some looks could change the course of nations with a few microseconds of eye contact.

This look was better than those.

This look could make _dragons_ slink away, doing their best to imagine themselves as small and harmless reptiles.

Cloud carefully avoided eye contact, pulled himself to his full, unimpressive height, looked her right in the eye, and withered under that stare.

When she spoke, it was with the carefully controlled, precise manner that belies the fury within. "What," his mother said, "Is the reason now?"

He hung his head and said nothing.

"Cloud Strife, you will look at me when I talk to you. Now!"

He jumped, head snapping up in automatic obedience - she _never_ raised her voice. The answer spilled out of him before could make it any more diplomatic. "He stole my ball."

Somehow, the glare intensified. Venom dripped from her words. _"And?"_

Cloud quailed beneath that skewering gaze, his guts turning to water. "He _stole_ my _ball!_"

_"And that's it?"_

He hung his head again, focusing on his worn, second-hand sneakers. No, that wasn't all. He couldn't describe it, the aimless fury that boiled in him; it defied being tamed and organized with mere words. Now, more than ever, he wanted to share that something hot and caustic was tearing him apart inside but when he opened his mouth, nothing would come out. His face screwed up in frustration and he tried again, but all he managed was a choked sound of wild emotion caught halfway in his throat. Unbidden, tears jumped to his eyes and his knuckles cracked as his fists clenched with unspoken fury and shame.

Cloud was so caught up in his inner turmoil he never heard his mother approach. With a soft sigh, she knelt in front of him, gently raising his chin to meet his eyes. The mother was back, full of concern and love and all things maternal. "You know you can tell me anything. You've never had so many problems at school. What's wrong?"

He stared at her for a wild, hot second, myriad thoughts screaming in his head, with one ringing out above the rest.

_TIFA HATES ME AND I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE!_

The thought, the suspicion, had been lingering in the back of his mind ever since Mrs. Lockhart had died. Ever since Tifa had fallen from the bridge. Ever since he'd failed to protect her.

He'd never really paid it any attention at first, more concerned about Tifa's recovery than her attitude toward him. As time and distance stretched between them, however, the thought that she blamed him would come back stronger, more insistent. It grew slowly, patiently, until he hadn't even realized it was there, until the distant suspicion had become a belief.

It would creep into his mind and coldly point out the way her eyes seemed to glide right past him, how she would turn away if he came near, how the words she spoke to him grew increasingly clipped and polite. The thought grew in his mind like a darkling seed, making him notice that whenever he and Tifa were anywhere near each other, her father was in the background, watching. And that, more than anything, made him believe: She'd been poisoned against him, his role in her eyes changing from savior to perpetrator.

As the thought grew, so did his own self-doubt, his own dogged self recrimination, until the thought came to a full, venomous bloom: Tifa hated him.

That one thought had a kernel of white-hot rage at its core, blinding him, filling him with so much fury it made him choke. The roots of that thought spread like an infection, poisoning how he read the petty slights of the townspeople toward the Strife family. What had always been a weary burden all his life now became an intolerable outrage, making him viciously lash out at the slightest of insults that he'd always endured before. A trivial offense would quickly produce a fist fight, and Cloud didn't care what the reason was, or who it was with. To him, only one thing mattered, the source of all his woes, the core of all his rage.

If he had been stronger, if he had been faster, if he hadn't been so damn _weak,_ he could've saved Tifa and all his problems would be gone. No matter the amount of rage he held against the real and imagined wrongs unfairly dealt to him, it would never amount to the scorn and fury he held for himself.

As he stared in his mothers concerned eyes, he tried to voice all this and more at once - and the words wouldn't come. He wanted so _badly_ to tell her, to unburden himself and to just relax in her arms and let the tears he could feel cool the fire within.

Perhaps if had told her, things would have turned out differently. Perhaps his mother, as all mothers are wont to do, could've poked all the right holes in his vicious circle of logic, point out that Tifa was avoiding him because her father was always watching. Perhaps she could have made him see that the simplest explanation is almost always the correct one and Tifa didn't hate him, but was merely forbidden from being near him by the suffocating worries and harsh ultimatum of a grieving man.

Perhaps.

But his brew of hatred, anger and shame sat in his stomach like molten lead; hot enough to sear his very soul and heavier than all the sins of the world.

So he stood there while his mother waited and the screams in his mind flew to a piercing shriek that only he coud hear.

Eventually, his mother sighed and just like that, the moment was gone. All the things he was bursting to say slunk back somewhere deep and dark as she drew him into a gentle hug. "Cloud, I know you're going through a hard time, but please. You can't keep fighting like this anymore! I'm giving you this last chance, Cloud. No more fighting. Okay?"

If looks had any effect on wood, his would have bored a smoking hole in the wall behind his mother's back. After a minute he managed to say, in a thick voice, "Okay."

She draws back and stands, turning him toward the stairs. "You're grounded until tomorrow, though. You may come down for dinner."

He didn't even care. No punishment could match the one he gave himself every day. Weary, he climbed the stairs without complaint and threw himself on his bed. It didn't take long for him to fall into a restless sleep. It would be much later until he saw the brown, crescent-shaped marks on his sheets, and even longer to discover their source. It was dried blood from his hands, made when his fingernails had pierced his palms as he fought to voice a scream no one would hear.

**xXxXx**

No matter what kind of emotional turmoil wrung his mind, no matter the heaping mounds of exhaustion - mentally and physically - Cloud endured, one fact could never be denied: The mind is slave to the needs of the body. It's pretty hard to wallow in agonizing, soul-searching misery when your stomach won't shut up, and there are few things hungrier than a pre-teen boy.

The second the delicious aromas wafted up the stairs and hit his nose, Cloud's eyes snapped open. A grumbling roar came from his midsection and he automatically found himself at his door, turning the knob. Then he stopped, gritting his teeth.

Grounded. He couldn't come down until his mother gave him permission, or else it'd be no dinner as further punishment. His mood curdled even more and he flopped down on his bed in the petulant manner only children can manage.

After a millennium, his mother's voice gives him the all-clear and he flew down the stairs, whirled into the kitchen, and was in his chair before she'd finished her sentence.

Ms. Strife turned, wooden spoon in hand, to find him giving the pot on the stove an eager look. She frowned at him. "Why don't you ever move that fast when I need you to do chores?

Cloud sniffed the air as though trying to eat the ambrosia-laden air. "Soap doesn't taste as good."

Despite the less-than-perfect day, she couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Oh, but you didn't think so when you were little! You know, I found a bar of soap with a perfect bite-mark out of it one time." She put a plate of some pasta dish on the table in front of him, then took her seat across from him. Cloud dug in hungrily.

"While you were in your room," Ms. Strife began in cool tones, "I took a look at your school papers." With a prim flick of her wrist, she set a napkin on her lap.

Cloud grunted as he devoured more pasta. Heaven.

The corners of her lips twitched downward but she went on. "After dinner, you have homework to do. Also, the Secret Santa event at school is a day from now."

He grunted again.

"Cloud, take a breath!"

Slurping up one last noodle, he straightened up and looked at her. "I'm hungry."

"It's rude to eat when someone is talking to you."

He gave her a Look of his own, the desperate, cute, not-quite-pouty face that only really cute kids can pull off - and, as some just _loved_ reminding him, he was pretty cute when he wanted to be.

The cute tactic had a minor victory; her stern expression wobbled and she sighed, before grudgingly nodding toward the plate, giving him permission to continue. He didn't have to be told twice.

As he wolfed down his food, his mother casually dropped a bomb on him. "You're supposed to get a gift for Tifa Lockhart."

It took about ten seconds for him to register what she'd said. Then he started choking. After a few firm slaps on his back from his mother, he pushed the noodle down his suddenly tight throat and gasped, "Tifa?"

For a second, he thought he saw a knowing glint in her eyes. "Yes, Tifa." She took a dainty sip of water. "But I don't think I should allow you to participate after your behavior at school."

His eyes widened in panic and tried to ignore the icy feeling creeping down his spine. "Uh, why?" he asked, much too quickly.

Her cool gaze flicked to him over the rim of her glass. She took her sweet time drinking, carefully setting the glass down before speaking. "I think it should be punishment for your behavior at school today."

A cocktail of emotions washed through him and he clenched his teeth against the anger rising in his stomach. "But that isn't fair!"

"Oh, I think it's quite fair!" They locked gazes and Cloud looked away first. "The way you've been acting isn't deserving of reward, Cloud. I'll write the teacher a note saying you cannot join in. That's final."

Cloud sat back in his chair, trying hard to keep the petulant expression he was feeling from showing. "But that isn't fair to Tifa, mom. What if I didn't take a gift from anyone, but I could give one to her?"

At this, his mother wavered, the forkful of pasta hesitating just a second before she put it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. She eyed her son with that look mothers get when they know their offspring is up to something. Cloud summoned as innocent a smile as he could despite feeling so low from earlier events that day. Needless to say, it was ghastly, and did nothing to assuage her suspicions.

Her eyes narrowed further.

Cloud rushed on, almost babbling in his haste. "See, there's not a lot of people at school, so when everyone gets their secret person they're supposed to get a gift for, the go out and get it right away, and tomorrow will be too late to change everything and if someone is getting a gift for me, it'll be a boy's gift, and Tifa might not like it, but if I get her something like normal, then I can get her something she would like and that way she won't be disappointed and I'll just say I can't take the gift."

It all came out in a rush with lots of sharp pauses for a panicked breath. When he was done, he watched his mother's face earnestly, waiting for the glance up and to the left, and the slight quirk of her lips that meant she'd capitulated.

After a few seconds that stretched to a subjective eternity, she sighed, and his heart jumped in glee as her eyes rolled up and to the left. She'd given in. A gift to Tifa might not make her forgive him all at once, but it would be a start. Sure, the whole 'Secret Santa' thing was supposed to be anonymous, but in a town this size, it was hard to keep anything from anyone - especially since the one general store was visible from almost every front door. It wasn't much - but he had to try.

"Alright," Ms. Strife said. "For Tifa. And whoever gives you a gift, you'll be _polite _and refuse it. Understood?"

Cloud nodded, already eager to dashing off. Mama Strife frowned. "Repeat what I just said."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll be polite to whoever gets me a gift when I refuse it."

"Very good. Now eat up. We'll go to McHughes before it gets too dark out to pick something out."

"Okay!" he said brightly.

"And you get to clean up and put the food away."

A sigh. "Okay," he said dismally.

**xXxXx**

A short while later, Cloud realized he had no idea what he was doing.

Being the only general store in town, McHughes had an incredible variety of things, and the interior of the store had been sorely challenged to hold all the items in any semblance of order. The original wooden shelves leaned against tall metal racks, each groaning under its burden. The shelves varied in height and width as generations came and went, leaving new acquisitions behind. What walls weren't covered by freezers were entirely obscured by more shelving up to the ceiling. The aisles were narrow and slightly claustrophobic with the taller shelves looming over customers. The entire arrangement was fairly haphazard, with twisting, obscure paths. This generated the overall effect that the store was larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. It goes without saying that the kids took delight in playing games inside, and McHugh good-naturedly tolerated their quiet antics until something broke, then they were sent home with a bill.

Almost anything could be found in this store, if you knew where to look, and Cloud didn't have any worries about selecting a gift at first. Usually, Cloud couldn't walk a quarter of the way through the store without spotting at least five fascinating, useful, or interesting things that begged to be taken home.

Now, however, everything that caught his eye had some fault. The bubble maze was curious and definitely weird, but pretty boring after the initial fascination had faded. A sequined jump rope was already fraying, glittering specks littering the shelf and floor, and besides, Tifa wasn't a girl for so many... _sparkles._ For a moment, he debated over a toy wooden sword, but the games of hero were becoming fewer and fewer each year, and he wanted to get her something that would last. Action figures weren't her thing, and neither were dolls.

Clothes were absolutely out of the question.

His mother chatted quietly with Mr. McHugh as Cloud paced back and forth, puzzling over the wealth of options before him. Eventually, his eyes landed on a dark rack tucked into an obscure corner, between a rocking horse and a truly ugly cigar Indian: A rack full of gloves. Like everything else, it was in a state of totally disarray, but all the matching pairs were held together with clips, and he dove into the mass, not sure what he was searching for.

There were probably hundreds of gloves in there, all in a surprising variety of sizes. There were cheap nylon ones and heavy wool ones with leather pads. Some were pink with kittens and others had blocky flames knit on the knuckles. As he dug, his hopes of finding something suitable began to diminish, and he was just about to give up and look elsewhere when his fingertips brushed something soft.

Biting his lower lip, he wiggled his arm against the compressed mass of gloves until he managed to grab the soft object between two fingertips. Gently, he drew his find to the surface and he knew he'd found the gift.

A pair of buttery soft, dark red leather gloves lay in his hands. The backs were stitched with a delicate, simple looping pattern that looked quite elegant. Oddly enough, the gloves were fingerless, and a little longer in the wrist than usual. If he had to make a guess, they looked like they were dress gloves, meant to provide protection from cold, cutting winds while leaving the fingers free for wearing rings. A quick comparison on his own hands showed they weren't terribly large at all, and appeared to have been made for small, delicate hands.

They reminded him of Tifa a great deal.

Carefully, he carried his prize to the counter where his mother still waited.

"Find what you're looking for, laddie?" McHugh boomed cheerfully. Cloud nodded solemnly as he handed over the gloves. "Ah, a fine set these are. For you, young man, fifteen gil!" A quick exchange of money, and Cloud was carrying the gloves home in a decorative bag filled with tissue paper. For the first time in a long while, he couldn't _wait_ to get to school.

The next morning, he was up and dressed in record time. Even his mother quirked an eyebrow at that. Though he'd always been a good eater, he polished off his eggs and toast in just a few minutes. He even had to wait for his mother to get dressed. When she walked him across the town to school, he pulled on her hand like an impatient dog, making her grumble under her breath about leashes and carrots on a stick.

Now that he was at school, the day slowed to an insufferable crawl. Math, science, language and history went by with Mesozoic languor. Halfway through the day, Cloud was sure the clock had been tampered with and the teacher - who really didn't like him, the sour-faced witch - put him in the time-out bench for ten minutes for not paying attention.

By the time the gift exchange came around, Cloud was contemplating how long he could balance a pair of scissors on one fingertip. When the teacher called the class to gather around the open area they sat for reading time, his hands were shaking with pent-up anxiety. None of the students sat down - everyone was eager to give and receive and the holiday cheer was thick in the air.

When the teacher began calling out names, he had to suppress an agonized groan. She couldn't just let them have _fun_ while doing this, couldn't just let them grab their gifts and hand it to the lucky winner. No, she _had_ to call each person - in alphabetical order - to grab their respective gift and wait for the trade to happen en mass.

At some point in the long history of this school tradition, the 'secret' in 'secret Santa' had been abandoned for the sake of dignity. Nibelheim was such a small town, genealogists from the university in Rocket Town had studied it for genetic diversity (or the lack thereof). There was simply no point in dancing around identities when everyone's neighbors overlapped four times over. Therefore, the 'secret' Santa event went like this:

First, everyone would be secretly given the victim of their gift-selecting ineptitude. Then everyone would scatter for five days to get the gift. On the day of revelation, everyone would hold their poorly wrapped gifts, wait for the signal, then hunt down their victim, thrust the gift upon them, then either scurry away or loom ominously to extract an appropriate response.

It went without saying that, in his experience, secret Santa was incredibly awkward, and was only implemented by adults to embarrass children, because that was adults did. Especially parents.

Only Ms. Sourface had to take it a step further and make it excrutiating as well by making everyone wait. Being some outlandish organization freak, Ms. Sourface had made everyone put their gifts on the large table in the back, and would only allow everyone to collect their gift-to-give when she gave them permission to.

Because the world hated him, Cloud's name came at the bottom of the list. Ms. Sourface glared at him through the half-moon glasses primly perched on her sharp nose as he scurried to the table and back to his spot in the circle. Once he was properly back in his place, she removed the glasses, carefully folded them, and let them hang from the cord attached to the arms.

"When I say you can, everyone will _calmly, quietly_ find their giftee and give it to them, _politely._ Understood?"

A subdued chorus of "Yes, Ms. Middleton," answered, though Cloud secretly said, "Yes, Ms. Sourface," very quietly under his breath.

Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds, as if just _knowing_ he's done something wrong but didn't have any evidence to drag him before judge, jury, and executioner. He ducked his head and tried to imagine himself as a quiet little sheep, despite the restless way he shifted from foot to foot, and she eventually said, "Begin."

The ring of children broke, people criss-crossing the empty space between, wearing broad grins or sheepish smiles.

Cloud took a step toward Tifa and felt his palms break out in a cold sweat. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with one of her friends - Valerie? Victoria? Something with a 'V' - congratulating her over a set of brand new coloring markers. She almost didn't notice him until he was standing right in front of her.

"Hi, Cloud." Her face began to warm into a smile, but her eyes flicked - just a little - to the side, and the smile became tame and polite. It didn't look natural on her, as though her features were more suited to genuine, bountiful warmth and cheer. He didn't have to turn his head to know the teacher was watching them. He'd heard Mr. Lockhart talking to Sourface once, asking her to keep him away from Tifa.

His heart was hammering a thousand miles a minute as he wordlessly handed over the small bag. "Happy Yule, Tifa," he muttered. Once she accepted the bag from him, his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, and the other grabbed a handful of jeans in his anxiousness. Every fiber of his being hoped, _begged,_ for something, any sign, any indication that she didn't blame him. _Forgiveness_. It was all he wanted, all he truly needed, to divest himself of the constant self recrimination that was his constant shadow.

_If you hadn't been so damn weak..._

Tifa carefully opened the bag and slid a hand inside, brow slightly furrowed with curiosity, but she was too polite to tear the obstructing tissue paper out. After a subjective eternity, the gloves came out and Tifa's face transformed.

A look of wonder, genuine wonder, suffused her expression, and Cloud felt his hopes soar higher than Mount Nibel as she rubbed the buttery-soft leather against one cheek. She immediately slipped them on and, though a little bit roomy for her child's hands, they looked like they'd been made for her. His mother was always going on about buying clothes a little bit bigger so he would grow into them, make them last longer, and he felt a surge of pride for having chosen so well for Tifa.

Then her eyes lifted to meet his and they were as closed off and polite as her smile. The amber eyes did not glow for him.

The bottom of his stomach fell out and his heart plunged somewhere around his toes. A grey hollowness filled the space it had been, spreading through him, filling him with a numbness and a desolate ache.

"I really like it, thank you Cloud," Tifa said politely.

He just rubbed the back of his neck and he mumbled something polite. He turned to go back to his desk. All he wanted to do right now as sit and let the numbness pass. It was a terrible feeling, absent even of the rage that had filled him for so long. At least the rage burned, filled him with _something_ - but in this emptiness there rang only two simple truths, echoing over and over.

_Tifa blames me for failing her on the bridge._

_Tifa barely even noticed me._

But as he turned, he found a small, plain yellow box thrust under his nose. He followed the calloused hand holding the box up a scruffy sleeve and to the leering face of Johnny. "Happy Yule, Cloud," Johnny said, putting just enough of a sneer into the name to be insulting, but not to be caught.

"Sorry, I can't take it," Cloud mumbled.

"That's rude, isn't it?"

Cloud shrugged. "My mom says I can't."

Johnny's grin broadened. "What if you just open it? My mom will be mad at me if you don't."

Cloud considered this for a second and figured it wouldn't hurt to be polite. He took the yellow box and muttered a thanks automatically.

Inside, he caught a stinging, actinic smell, and two small jars glittered in the light. Bright, gaudy pink nail polish winked at him from inside the small vials. The labels had the brand, _Pretty Girl_, emblazoned in bright silver.

Cloud's eyes snapped up to see Johnny stumbling back, laughter creasing his face already. That's when he felt it return, the anger, blazing white hot, rushing into the void. It felt good, warmed him from the inside out. He dropped the box.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Tifa watching, distant, curious. She seemed so far away, and he just couldn't recall how that had happened.

Then he turned and slugged Johnny in the face.

_The game never really explains very well HOW or WHY Cloud thinks Tifa blames him, so I had to whip up as viable a reason as I could. The whole time I was writing this, I worried he wouldn't sound like he was 9, but I remember being bullied at that age and I recall very clearly the twisted lines of logic I used that would make me see enemies in every classmate. :( Anyway, I hope you guys find this a reasonable explanation/course of events. Silly game is so vague sometimes!_

_If you want to see a (slightly bigger version) of Tifa's gloves, you can find it on (without the spaces) leather gloves online.C O M , in the women's dress gloves section. I would give you the direct link but... You know how FFN is.  
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	11. I Taught You Something

_(Author's Note: Aha! You didn't think I'd update, did you? Well, okay, I DID miss May by a few hours, but this chapter turned out being longer than I thought. Consider it my apology for being so late!_

_So, the reason I'm so late in updating is, I'm sad to say, some jackass that's supposed to be the local handyman threatened my grandmother and her friend because they wouldn't hire him anymore. My grandma is 79 and her friend is 86 - they live 300 miles away in some pretty bad country with lots of unsavory characters, so that took a full two weeks to attend to. It was a very tense two weeks._

_So! My deepest apologies for being so late in an update. This chapter prompt came from the amazing _FuiRin_, so many thanks to her for this idea! I can update faster if I get more prompts (hint hint!) So read on and enjoy!)_

**...I Taught You Something**

Summer had finally come to the mountains, which was just as well, because the oppressive heat kept most people inside during the midday hours and these days Cloud didn't want anything to do with people. School had ended with another thirteen fist-fights, two weeks of suspension, and no allowance until his next reincarnation, as his mother put it. He didn't care. The molten rage inside him made the summer sun look pale and anemic in comparison. He could feel it inside, waiting, seething, just looking for an excuse to spill out again and leave the taste of iron in his mouth.

As he stepped out of his doorway, he could hear the other kids playing some stupid game nearby. They were laughing and shrieking with delight and clearly having a great time. Suddenly, a boy came racing around the corner in hot pursuit of a ball, laughing and clearly enjoy the weather, friendship, and a good game.

The ball came to a gentle stop a few inches away from Cloud's feet. The boy - Cloud didn't know him very well - stopped so fast he nearly fell over. As it was, he only scraped one knee before swiftly retreating several feet. He eyed the distance between him and Cloud the way a nervous man might gauge the slim margin of safety between him and a rabid dog. A hot, dusty silence stretched between them. The rage, coiled like a ball of molten led in his chest, suddenly released, sending fire through his veins.

Cloud gave him a tight smile that did nothing but show teeth, and bent to pick up the ball. The taste of iron in his mouth was hot and bitter. Still holding that rictus grin, he raised the ball over his head and threw it as hard as he could. The boy flinched but Cloud wasn't aiming for him. No, in fact, the ball went right where he wanted it to go; it flew over the empty square, bounced off the water tower and ricocheted with blinding speed into a window somewhere.

Cloud smiled, a genuine one this time that did little more than to show the points of his teeth. He felt a bubble of laughter slowly burst deep in his chest, but it was sick tasting, like something that had been left to spoil. Somewhere, an adult was shouting at the boys playing in the square. Cloud stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "Better go get your ball," and walked away.

It was always like this, these days. The other kids would treat him like a leper and the anger would snap, flooding him with adrenaline that seared his insides and made his skin go cold. Then the voice of reason in his head would start gibbering in panic, his vision would twist like a fisheye lens and when it all cleared away, something was broken and his knuckles were raw and bleeding.

He looked down at his knuckles, still covered with week-old scabs. His hands hadn't been unblemished since November. Idly, he kicked a large pine cone down the narrow path he wandered along. As he walked into the thick woods that surrounded Nibelheim, the trees closed around him like a heavy curtain, quickly blotting out the sounds of children at play. Every step he took away from them, he felt better, felt cooler in his heart and his mind. There was no real reason why watching, or even hearing, the other kids play just... just _pissed him off_ so much - it just did. Well, there were probably plenty of reasons, like the way the treated him like an outcast, how they called him 'bastard' behind his back, how they never, _ever,_ played fair. Those were all good reasons to get royally _pissed_, but no matter what sullen excuse he made to his mother, the real reason was always the same:

They could play with and be around Tifa, a precious blessing he could never get back.

As that thought passed through his mind, he viciously sliced a fern in half with a scything slash of his foot. Picking up a good sized stick with some easily-pruned twigs, he set to slicing up the landscape as he walked.

Let them play their stupid games, laughing at every little thing. He didn't care - he had his own special retreat, a place just for him that was ten times the size of the stupid town square and the stupid water tower.

A few more slashes on the innocent flora and Cloud burst through a tall curtain of grass, almost stumbling right into the pond itself. The pond was really too small to be a lake, and too big to really qualify as a murky, reed-infested damp spot that a real pond truly is. The summer growth had gone wild with all the water. Water lillies checkered the still water, cattails swayed in the warm breeze, and countless hidden frogs sang gustily, their chorus dipping when Cloud came near only to start up again full blast. The craggy mountain peaks that framed the sky cast a mirror image on the glassy water, only to dance at the slightest breeze. He wandered over to his favorite tree, a gnarled and cold-stunted willow that leaned far over the water, dipping its long, green tresses in the water. The heavy scent of sodden and growing things washed over him in the cool breeze whispering off the green waters. It was wonderful.

For a minute he just stood, face toward the sun, soaking in the silence, the fresh scent of the earth so busy with _life_ all around him. This was _his_ place. No furtive whispers to ignore, no wary glances to endure - just peace. Smiling a little, he trudged over to the bowed willow tree and nestled into a familiar hollow near the roots, letting the inherent serenity of the pond seep into his bones.

He'd just begun to drift into a light doze when he heard a loud splash. It was loud enough to halt his sleepy descent and momentarily silent the frogs nearby, but he paid it no mind. Bullfrogs could make a big splash when they jumped about, being huge specimens themselves. Cloud wiggled to make himself a bit more comfortable against the gnarled trunk and sighed. The soothing breeze and the lulling serenades of the frogs started to put him asleep once more.

_SPLOOSH!_

There it was again, a loud splash, and this time he knew it _definitely_ wasn't a bullfrog. That sound was most certainly made by a rock being pitched into the lake. Which could only mean one thing - someone was here.

A sudden fury gripped him and Cloud found he was striding toward the curtain of willow leaves, whacking stick firmly in hand. He knew he shouldn't have marched straight here - one of the other boys had followed him, probably to ruin this one place of serenity left to him. He could taste iron in his mouth as the rage peaked with his heartbeat. How _dare_ they.

He savagely whipped aside the curtain of willow fronds, stick in hand, lightning in his eye, and ready to do some damage as he burst into a small clearing -

- And startled Tifa so badly, she dropped a rock on her foot.

Cloud froze, the chilly sensation of shock slapping him so hard his heart skipped several beats. He suddenly felt very, very nervous. Some part of his brain that wasn't stumbling over the fact he must look like an idiot and was holding a big stick, pointed out that he should probably say something. It seemed like sound advice, so he tried it.

"Oh," he said wittily.

With all the casual grace and composure that had made her the village sweetheart, Tifa recovered immediately, put her hands on her hips, did a cute little huff and said, "Can I help you?"

"Uh, sure?" Cloud said suavely and immediately wanted to punch himself. At this rate, people would start calling him Prince Charming and throw frogs at him or something. His mind seized on that thought and threw it at his mouth before checking with him first. "I thought it was a frog," he blurted.

_Why did I say that?_

Tifa's eyebrows scrunched down. "What?"

Ah geez. Those amber eyes were making him nervous and he cast his gaze at his scruffy sneakers instead, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. When he felt the cold touch of wood on his nape, he calmly switched hands. Like an idiot, he'd totally forgotten he was still holding the stick.

"I was... over there and I heard... splashing and thought it... maybe was a frog? Like a big one and I, uh..." He couldn't think of an excuse that didn't make him sound like a psycho or even more of a complete fool. _Ohcrapohcrapohcrap..._

Tifa, O wondrous angel, saved him. "Oh, you wanted to catch a real big one?" Her face brightened at the concept of catching a _really big_ frog.

She was tossing him a lifeline.

He took it.

"Yes! I keep telling my mom about all the frogs over here and yesterday I got this really neat one and showed it to her and, well, she screamed at threw towels at me until I got it out of the house, but I want her to see one of the bullfrogs, right? Because they're _huge_ and they're really hard to catch because they're in the deeper water and the splashing sounded like it was closer to the shore and...," he was babbling,"..so I grabbed this stick, see, to help like herd it or something and came rushing over here before it got away again and...," stop babbling, you _idiot,_"...yeah. Didn't mean to scare you," he finished lamely.

Tifa shrugged and bent over to pick up another rock. She scrutinized it for a few seconds then, apparently finding it unsatisfactory, dropped it to hunt for another. "It's okay. I wasn't doing much anyway."

As she continued sifting through the rocks, Cloud managed to summon up some courage. "Uh... what were you doing?"

She stood, a smooth, round rock in hand, and flung her long dark hair over her shoulder with natural grace. He stared at the length of shining brown and almost missed what she said.

"...ping rocks."

He blinked guiltily. "Uh, what?"

"Trying to skip rocks but it isn't working. See?" Rearing back an arm, she wound up the rock pretty good, and threw it with impressive strength straight down into the green depths. This feat of throwing skill produced a temporary silence in the frogs and nothing more.

Then Cloud made a very bad mistake.

He laughed.

Well, 'snickered' really. A short "Heh," and a snort, and that was all.

And that was all it took to make Tifa whirl on him, eyes flashing, hands on her hips, and level The Glare at him.

Cloud suddenly felt very, very small. That was him, always an idiot, always doing the just the right thing to screw things up, to make things worse. Like getting into fights, or taking a short cut to school through a backyard or...

..._almost letting Tifa die, you pathetic, weak, sorry excuse-_

Cloud slammed the door on that thought and the rage and quickly looked away from her. Distant pain from his hand made him look down - his fist was clenched so tightly on the wood his knuckles had turned white. He was lucky she was even talking to him at all and he had to blow it by _laughing_ at her.

If he died alone, it would be nothing less than he deserved.

"Uh," he said lamely. "You're throwing it wrong." The instant the words left his mouth, he wanted to deck himself. Great - if laughing at her wasn't bad enough, he had to go and tell her she was screwing up. _Way to go Cloud._ Now she was probably going to order him to leave her alone, and he would, not because she told him to, but because her hatred of him would be too much to bear. Without even realizing what he was doing, he had already begun to turn around and miserably plod somewhere else where she wouldn't be bothered by him anymore. After all, it was the only thing he could do that she would appreciate these da-

"Show me how to do it then," she said.

Cloud stopped and fought the urge to clean out his ears. "What?" he said, again showing off his rapier wit.

Tifa kicked a small rock into the water and pointed at the ground next to her, clearly ordering him to come near. "Show me! If you can do it then teach me."

He stared at her for a few seconds then shrugged. _Why the hell not?_ Wasn't like he had anything to lose. It was surprising enough that she wasn't ordering him away or throwing things at him. Best not to question the turn in his dubious fortune.

So in short order, Cloud was rooting around in the rocks that sheathed the small shore of the pond. There were plenty - it was an alpine pond after all. Even if the altitude wasn't that high, the countryside for miles around any mountain range tended to have rocks in abundance.

After a few minutes, he'd found a few serviceable rocks. These he presented to Tifa and proceeded to explain why these were the best, which many hours of boredom at the pond had given him apt experience in selecting.

"You see, you want one that's flat and fits your hand right," he said, hefting a smallish stone for her study. "See how thin? Makes it fly better. Like a Frisbee."

Tifa solemnly took the rock from him and listened carefully, amber eyes flicking over the qualities of the stone as he described them.

"Smoother stones skip better, I think," he continued. "I've gotten the most skips out of them at least."

"How many skips?" she asked.

"Eight," he said, with no small amount of pride. "It skipped right across the pond into the bushes over there." He pointed to a thick patch of wild black raspberries that was absent of fruit still.

Tifa was amazed. "Wow!"

He smiled, the tension in his entire body fading away. He'd forgotten how wonderful it was to be around Tifa, how her singular focus and attention in everything one was doing made him feel like the most important person in the world. Being able to talk to her again, to be close enough to see the light glint and shine in the amber of her eyes, was a balm he never knew he'd needed so badly. The day was turning out very good indeed.

"Okay, so, this is how you hold the rock." He gripped one appropriately and held it up so she could see. His fingers were curved around the rock as though he was ready to throw a baseball.

Tifa nodded. "Right."

"And then the rest of it is really all in the wrist. Just wind up..." he did so, winding up the throw like a pitcher, "And throw!" With grunt, he chucked the rock as hard as he could at the water, throwing it underhand as though it were a Frisbee. The rock skipped three times before sinking with a gurgle.

"And that's all there is to it," he finished proudly.

Tifa gasped with delight and he felt ridiculously lightheaded. Maybe she didn't hate him so much after all. If little things like these could change how she felt...

"Here, you try!" He pressed a rock into her hand, made sure she was holding it right and stepped back. Biting her lower lip in total concentration, Tifa wound up and threw.

A second later, she was bending over Cloud as he clutched his face. "Ohmygawd Cloud, are you okay?"

"That... was unexpected," he mumbled. The coppery taste of blood from his cut lip where Tifa had well and truly clocked him with her weighted fist made him swallow several times. It made him queasy.

"I swear I didn't do it on purpose!" Tifa said. She was frantic he'd accuse her of doing it intentionally. The very thought was ludicrous and he snorted.

Even though it hurt his lip, he grinned at her. "I know Tifa. You'd never do anything like that on purpose."

She beamed at him and it was like he'd never gotten clobbered in the face. Somewhere, deep inside, he felt a cruel twist as a buried part of his mind knew that this moment would likely never come again - she blamed him, after all, for what happened on the mountain. That one moment of shame would never let him be. He dabbed at his cut lip, blue eyes shadowed as he recalled that pivotal moment he could never change, no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind.

Tifa looked around, casting about for something to staunch the bleeding. "Want to go back into town? I don't have anything to clean it up..."

Cloud shook his head slowly, gradually coming out of his brooding reverie. "Nah, I'm fine. It's already stopped bleeding." Which was true - the cut wasn't very bad, but he could still feel the imprint of his teeth on the inside of his lips. That would be sore for a few days. "Try another rock," he insisted, and smiled to show her that he was fine. It may have been more convincing if there wasn't blood in his teeth, but he didn't want to cut this moment short.

Forced to choose between treating some pain or staying with Tifa? That wasn't even a question. It was far more painful being away from her, a wound that was so deep, blood could not find it.

He would always stand by her.

Again, Tifa picked up a suitable rock and again she wound up for the throw. This time Cloud stood well behind her, clear of the arc of her throwing arm. "Remember, like a Frisbee! And the farther out on the water, the more bounces you'll get!" he called.

"Right, gotchya!" After executing an excellent wind up, she whipped her arm forward with truly perfect form, eyebrows furrowed, focused on the gleaming water ahead.

The rock arced away from her, flying through a graceful arc and plowed into Cloud's belly. He dropped to one knee, clutching his midsection, winded by the blow. "..uhh..." was all he could utter, barely above a whimper. Holy crap, that girl had an arm!

Tifa, blissfully unaware, was still staring out at the pond. "I think I threw it too hard. I can't even see where it went in the water. Maybe I should throw it a little slower nex- Cloud!" As she turned to him for his input on rock-skipping, she saw him fall over on his side, curled up around his stomach.

His vision swam a little as she rushed over to him - from tears or lack of air, he wasn't sure, only knowing that it _hurt_. He was only slightly relieved that the rock hadn't nailed him somewhere lower - but at the moment, that blessing that seemed very small indeed.

Tifa's hands gingerly patted his shoulder and he limply rolled onto his back, gasping for breath. "Ohmygawd I'm sooo sorry Cloud! I don't know how that happened!"

"It's...fiiiine..." he gasped.

"Is there anything I can do?" Tifa peered at him anxiously over her hands that were clapped to her mouth in shock.

Cloud could do little more than shake his head and flap his hands in a weak attempt to communicate that he just needed a few moments to gather himself. It didn't take long and his pride stung a little bit when Tifa offered to help him up. He stood under his own power, brushing off leaves and pine needles, carefully hiding any wincing as muscles pulled against the bruise already forming over his stomach. At least he'd only caught the rock when it had slipped _backward_ from her hand, with much less force if it had gone in the direction she'd intended. She could knock someone's brains out if she wanted!

"Okay," he said, voice barely quavery. "Let's try this again. This time, I'm standing _far_ away."

Tifa giggled as he marched into the trees a little ways but made no argument - no doubt she would be doing the same if she had gotten clobbered twice in a row.

Once Cloud was stationed behind a sturdy-looking pine, he leaned out of cover to give her the all clear. "Okay!" he called. "You had it perfect that last time, just hold tighter onto the rock!"

Tifa grabbed another rock from the pile of pre-approved stones Cloud had found, and wound up again. Cloud ducked behind the the tree, letting only one eye peep around trunk. Her form was flawless - she really knew how to throw! - but the angle was too steep. The rock plowed into the water, splashing up an impressive crescent-shaped plume of water, and vanished. The next two rocks produced the same results, each one sending up a larger plume than the last. Tifa stomped her foot in frustration.

"Try again! Throw it farther out!" Cloud shouted from his safe spot.

Nodding, Tifa picked up another rock, wound up and threw. This was a little better, skittering across the surface of the water for a few feet before it began to tumble and vanished once more.

"Are you SURE this works?" Tifa shouted. She was giving the rock in her hand a skeptical look.

"Yes!"

Tifa turned and, for the second time that day, did the cutest little huff, hands on her hips, giving him a no-nonsense look that bored right through the tree he was peeking around. "Cloud, if you don't come back here and show me again, I'm leaving."

Well shit.

With great reluctance, he abandoned his safe zone, the bruise on his stomach twinging in anticipation. Once more, he stood next to Tifa and bent to pick up a rock. He studied the pond for a few moments, then pointed.

"See that log over there?" His finger picked out a nearly submerged log, the tip peaking out of the water almost halfway across the pond along the shore. Tifa leaned in to see exactly where he was pointing and his heart skipped a few beats. Her hair smelled like strawberries and the wind seemed to delight in whipping strands of it in his face. It took him a few seconds to remember what the hell he'd been going to say.

"Yeah, I see it," she said.

"Okay, that's about the distance you want to throw the rock at." Slowly, so she could follow, he dragged his finger across the distance from the log to the green waters before them until it stopped at a nondescript point. "The angle has to be just right to get it to skip." His fingers spasmed as he turned the rock in his hand to make it fit comfortably. Tifa hadn't stepped away and the few inches between them seemed to vibrate with a tension only he could feel.

Cloud cleared his throat a few times - he would lose all credibility if he screwed up now. "And you don't have to throw it too hard or it'll just keep sinking. Just give it enough to let it fly." As he spoke, he wound up for the throw and let loose on the last word. The rock skipped four times before sinking.

Never before did he want to whoop with victory as he did in that moment. It took more willpower than he knew he had to suppress the urge, but it was a near thing. A _very_ near thing.

Tifa gasped with delight. "Wow, you are really good at this!"

With a poise he never knew he possessed, Cloud shrugged off the compliment as his heart dangerously swelled with pride. "It was okay. Now you try." That's how he said it, just like that, with complete calm. He felt like the coolest person in existence. Not even war heroes could touch this!

Once Tifa had a rock in hand, Cloud resisted the panicked klaxon of his instincts and didn't dive for cover. He hung back a little, hands in his pockets, looking perfectly at ease - or at least he hoped so.

Tifa took her time, turning the rock over in her hand until she had a firm grip on it. She looked out on the water and Cloud knew she was focusing on the spot he'd indicated earlier, could almost feel her eyes flicking toward the log and back, gauging distances. She stretched her arms, wound up and threw, not trying to pile-drive the rock anymore, but giving it plenty of gas to fly.

The rock touched the water, danced off, hopped up into the air again with a slight wobble, then touched down once more. It didn't quite skip a third time, but instead went skittering off to the side, sending up a thin, circular spray of water.

Tifa didn't have the same reservations of coolness that he did. She jumped into the air, squealing with delight, and pumped both fists into the air. "Yes!" Then she did something Cloud did not expect.

"Thank you, Cloud!" She turned on heel and launched herself at him in a full-body hug. He staggered as her slight weight impacted him. Taken completely by surprise, he just stood there, body stiff at the unexpected contact. His mind reeled.

_What? Just...what?_

Tifa hated him... didn't she? As that thought passed through his mind, Tifa squeezed her excitement to him, and she proved to be remarkably strong. Feeling incredibly awkward, he raised a hand in two jerky motions to pat her on the back. When she still didn't move, he froze again, unsure.

Tifa must have sensed his insecurity because she only held the hug for a few more seconds before taking a step back. The nervous smile on his face was reflected in hers as well and an uncomfortable silence filled the space between them.

Nothing kept Tifa down for long, though. Her face brightened again, the natural angelic glow he knew so well suffusing her eyes. "I found something for you!" She began to rummage around in her pockets.

"Uh. Me?" Cloud was still recovering from the hug. As such, his composure was under incredible strain and any coolness points he'd earned earlier were completely blown away with that one savvy comeback.

Tifa was patting her pockets, apparently in search of whatever surprise she had for him and didn't answer. Hopefully she wouldn't notice his blunder.

After a rapid search, Tifa finally produced his gift. "Here!" She thrust her hand out toward him, a chunk of golden rock sitting in her palm. Cloud gingerly accepted it and when she dropped it in his hand, he was surprised by the weight of such a fairly small stone. The rock had a pitted and chopped up surface with some large, squarish facets that left spots in his vision when the sun reflected off them. He'd never seen anything like it.

"It's fool's gold," Tifa said cheerfully. "I found it when exploring one day. It reminded me of you so I grabbed it."

He looked up at her, suddenly feeling very young and shy. "It reminded you of me?"

She nodded, smiling, more than able to tell he was pleased by the gift. "'Cause, you know. Your hair."

At the mention of his hair he blushed a little and automatically lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. Tifa giggled when he did and he grinned at her.

At that moment, it hit him, really hit him, that he was standing here, in his favorite place with his favorite person (other than his mom) and for the first time in too many long years, he felt happy. He could stay here forever, in this very moment, and never want for anything. The seething, molten hate that had seared him to the soul for so long, just... evaporated under her smile. It was gone, as if it'd been nothing more than a bad dream. A voice he hadn't heard in a while, one that spoke of happier things, one that was always cheerful and more than willing to give everyone a second chance, started whispering again.

Maybe she didn't really hate him. Maybe she just needed time to get adjusted to a new life without her mom. Maybe the reason she played with all those other idiots in town and not him was due to his own insecurity.

Maybe... just _maybe_... she didn't blame him for what happened on the br-

A loud thrashing in the woods drew their attention. It was too far off to see who - or what - was causing the disturbance, but it was big and pissed off. That's when Cloud's most helpful memory duly informed him that they were a fair distance from town and the mountains were rife with monsters. Without hesitation, he put shifted slightly to put himself between Tifa and the advancing threat. The fool's gold dug into his hand as his fist tightened around it. Behind him, he heard Tifa pick up a rock, and a bolt of pride flashed through him. That was the Tifa he knew - never content to just be the protected one. She would take a stand and fight.

With Tifa at his side, he felt certain that he could take on anything.

That all changed when her father burst through the thick brush.

"Tifa! Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick!"

Tifa stared, startled, as he rushed forward. "Papa?"

He grabbed her arm and even Cloud could see how his fingers dug into her skin. "What have I told you about wandering off? Don't you know that there are monsters coming down from the mountains this time of year? You aren't supposed to be outside alone! How many times have I told you that? HOW MANY?" He shook her arm, nearly pulling her off her feet.

"Ow!" Tifa unsuccessfully tried to wrench her arm from her father's grasp, or at least alleviate the crushing pain of his fingers. "Papa, I'm fine! There's no monsters here, and I'm not alone, Cloud is here!"

Mr. Lockhart turned his gaze on Cloud, blinking, as if just realizing that he was there. Something ugly moved in his eyes, but Cloud didn't retreat an inch. Instead, he planted his feet and held his ground.

He was done with bullies.

Mr. Lockhart straightened, never looking away from Cloud. "Tifa, go back to the house." His voice was low, and lethal, the way a man might speak when faced with a rabid dog.

Even Tifa felt the sudden change. She glanced at Cloud nervously and licked her lips. "No. It isn't raining or too cold and I'm not running near rocks or-"

He turned on her so swiftly even she was surprised. One moment she was talking and the next, he had her by the shoulders and was swiftly propelling her backwards, shouting furiously, "DO AS I TELL YOU AND GO BACK HOME RIGHT NOW!"

Tifa stopped twenty feet away, stunned, when her father finally let go. She stood there, mouth open slightly, and stared as her father's retreating back.

Mr. Lockhart went back to Cloud and went down on a knee before him. He locked eyes with Cloud, who coldly returned the favor. "Cloud Strife, I want you to listen to me, and listen well," said Lockhart. His voice was low, so low that Cloud could barely hear him. "You stay away from my daughter? Do you understand? She's better than you. She is the only thing I have left in this world and I will _not_ let her be endangered by a violent little bastard like you. Do you hear me? You come near her again, you _touch_ her, and I'll break your arms. So don't come near her. Don't speak to her, don't even _think_ about her. STAY AWAY!"

The last two words he shouted with such force, something broke in his throat and made Cloud flinch. Even the frogs were shocked into silence. Standing, the man cast Cloud a contemptuous glare and turned around. "Tifa, we're going home."

"But-"

"DON'T ARGUE WITH ME!" He grabbed her by her other arm - she'd have bruises on both, now - and hauled her away, trampling the growth underfoot. She cast one, frantic look back at Cloud before she vanished from sight.

Cloud stood by the still waters and watched them walk away, the taste of iron lying bitter on his tongue.


	12. I Made A Promise To You

_(Author's Note: So yeah, really no excuse for why this is late. I THOUGHT I was done, but then I showed it to my beta and she asked, 'But how would his mother react?' So I went back and had to add a big scene and it was like squeezing water from rock. So, many apologies on that, but I hope it makes things more believable. The game says that Cloud first heard of Sephiroth after the Bridge Incident, but never __**when**__ exactly, so I took a little liberties with the timing to make it more plausible.  
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_Also, forgive the passive voice in here which drives me up the wall - I may rewrite this later to liven it more. There's 3 circular themes in this chapter that I'm proud worked so well, plus some major ironic foreshadowing. Can you spot it all? Enjoy!)_

**...I Made A Promise To You**

His mother once told him, 'Be careful what you wish for - you might just get it.'

Cloud didn't really understand her ominous tone. How could a wish for, say, a million dollars be a bad thing? Isn't that what you wanted in the first place? It made no sense. As usual whenever she said something cryptic, he puzzled over it for a moment, and then promptly forgot about it.

After the incident at the pond, though, that moment rose from the depths of memory and struck him forcefully.

_"I once wished your father wouldn't have to work in the mines and risk his health. Cave-ins, the black lung - I wanted better for him. Longer. Two months later, he joined the military." With a sad smile, she kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the photo of his father above the mantle. "Never make wishes for yourself, Cloud. Fate has a way of twisting them."_

Her words had left him strangely subdued for the rest of the day.

But right then, with the iron taste of hate in his mouth and rage burning in his veins, he didn't care about that. He didn't care if fate was listening or if the frogs gave a damn. He made a wish.

"Leave me alone." It hissed out of him like steam from a furnace. "I wish all of you would just _leave me alone."_

As with all wishes, this one happened slowly.

**xXxXx Four Years Later xXxXx**

Cloud felt... faded.

It was an odd feeling, one that evaded easy description. The change hadn't been sudden - quite the opposite. It crept up on him, sliding ever closer as the distance between him and his peers yawned wider. Like a flag left hanging too long under the brutal sun, he felt blanched and forgotten. Sometimes, it felt as though there were little more than frayed, dry threads holding him together.

Four years was a long time to endure the scorching heat of the town's scorn.

Time enough to wither.

Time enough to be forgotten.

Time enough to fade.

The pointed way the others avoided him had become second-nature now. Whereas four years ago his presence would have garnered wary glances and judging whispers, he now warranted no more attention than the worn cobblestones. The other kids didn't ignore him, because ignoring would imply awareness of his existence. They just didn't see him anymore, something far more cruel than shunning. It was like he'd simply ceased to exist. More than once his mother caught him staring at his reflection, as he searched for a hint of transparency, scanning for a spot that had finally started to _fade_.

It wasn't so bad, at first. He enjoyed the solitude. The distance was a welcome buffer from the endless inanities of the other kids, who were always laughing at stupid, childish things. They were content to ignore him and he was content to be ignored. It was easier to slip away and pursue his own interests, with no fear of being hounded by derisive sneers. He welcomed their shunning, enjoyed it even, if only to spite them.

As the years passed, he grew more and more invisible to everyone until, eventually, they didn't see him at all. He passed through town like a ghost, only acknowledged by a polite side-step or flicker of attention as eyes passed over him. The adults still talked to him, of course - there was no conspiracy here. Only the kids his age, the ones he should be calling friends or enemies, ceased to see him anymore. He had no friends or enemies - they were merely ghosts to him, as he was to them.

Things started to change, though, after the third year of nonexistence.

He realized, with dawning horror, that Tifa couldn't see him either.

She wasn't doing it on purpose - he knew her well enough to know she would never willingly participate in something as cruel and petty as that. She was just... caught up in the flow with the others. She played with them, went to birthdays and holiday parties with them. They were her friends and she shared their mutual blind spot - him.

Whenever he passed by she would wave to him or smile at him and those moments would leave him giddy with pleasure for days. Only later would he realize how truly pathetic he had become for that miniscule acknowledgement of his life. Other than that, she barely noticed him. Whenever he approached her, the others would automatically move away and she was unwittingly pulled along in their tide of rejection.

Over time, the maddening little voice that everyone has made countless rationalizations... and slowly, Cloud began to listen.

Tifa wasn't even aware of the shunning - it wasn't in her nature to encourage or take part in such a thing.

_She saw him as a troublemaker and was avoiding him._

_No, she didn't want him to get in trouble with her father again, so she was avoiding him - yes, yes, that made sense, didn't it? It was exactly something she would do!_

_Actually, she still blamed him for what happened on the bridge and was ignoring him the way people ignore the weak-armed nerds when picking teams in gym class. Hoping he'd just go away because no one wants weaklings following them around._

_No, no, she was avoiding him because the other kids were telling her things about him. She probably thought he bit the heads off live chickens and howled at the full moon._

And so on. Many of the ideas were absurd and he realized that. But he had time to kill and nothing to do but refine the absurdities into something almost plausible. For a time, he thought that if he could divine a reason other than the obvious _(she can't see me because I'm never there)_ then he could do something about it. Make a battle plan, one might say. It kept him occupied, at the very least.

Eventually, after turning out thousands of reasons, he realized none of it really mattered. The reason he'd faded from her notice wasn't worth pondering over. What did matter was one, simple fact:

_Tifa didn't notice him._

The only thing that remained now was to find a plan to get her attention _back._

And that left him well and truly stumped. Fading away was easy, once you knew the trick - coming back, though, proved much harder.

He wasn't the only thing fading from interest, though. Mrs. Vinzetti's award-winning hydrangeas were no longer a topic, and the scandalous magazines Mr. McHugh had just stocked had fallen out of gossip circle discussions.

The war in Wutai was really heating up. Just last week a major city had buckled under the SOLDIER assault and Wutai forces were in full retreat. The Shinra Anthem played twenty times and hour and Shinra colors became the next big thing in fashion. And everyone had one name on their lips, one name that was repeated over and over on the news.

Sephiroth.

"...Today, a strike team of elite SOLDIER's led by war-hero Sephiroth, successfully captured a heavily armored supply train carrying arms and ammunition...

"...special operation led by a team of SOLDIER's and Sephiroth to take back the Bay of Pearls..."

"...SOLDIER and famous war-hero known only as Sephiroth were presented medals of valor today by President Shinra..."

It was all anyone talked about. War heroes and SOLDIER and medals and glory - the world buzzed with it around the clock. Even Old Man Rassiter, who thought everyone was nearly as deaf as he was, could be heard bellowing about the latest news from the front.

So it was no surprise when, like every other boy in the world, Cloud became infatuated with his new role model - Sephiroth.

Cloud was a fan. A hard-core fan. He had posters, T-shirts, even a Sephiroth action figure. He even bought the comic books. All of this his mother witnessed with growing concern but he didn't care.

Sephiroth was _cool._ He was dangerous and strong, the _best -_- and everybody knew it.

From all accounts, the war hero had come from an unremarkable town, orphaned when he was young and left his town with a SOLDIER recruiter. It wasn't much - and in fact, many nosy reporters were posted to the front lines when they prodded at Sephiroth's past too much - but it was enough to make the imaginations of boys all around the world go wild.

There was no enemy he couldn't beat, no defense he couldn't surpass. No one could lift the Masamune but him and the very elements were at his command. The very best of SOLDIER, Sephiroth was unbeatable, with no weaknesses and no fears.

Sephiroth was nothing like him - and that's what Cloud liked best. The more he liked the idea, the more he hated himself. It was already his fault, his own weakness, that had hurt Tifa, hurt his mother. If only he was stronger, then everything would be different. Everything would have changed.

If only.

Late one night, Cloud decided he was done with 'if only.' No more doubt, no more wishing to change the past - he'd take the hand he'd been dealt and show them all how much better he really was. He was different from all those immature brats that clung to Tifa like weeds choking a rose garden. Everything would change. _He_ would change.

Cloud decided he would join SOLDIER and become just like Sephiroth.

**xXxXx**

He told his mom in October, two months after his fourteenth birthday.

She dropped the deep, ceramic pan she'd just pulled from the oven and it hit the floor with a loud thump, but didn't break.

She whipped around to face him and he was startled by how wide her eyes were - he could see the whites of her eyes around the startled blue irises. "What? What gave such an idea? It was those comic books, wasn't it? Didn't I say those books would give you wrong ideas? You put that idea out of your head right now! Understand?"

Her voice rose until she was almost yelling at him. Rescuing the casserole from the floor, she put the pan on the stove and began to tidy up needlessly, movements brisk. Cloud just blinked at her back, amazed. Hadn't she heard him?

Then, calmly, he repeated himself. "Mom, next spring I'm going to join SOLDIER."

She slammed the plates on the table, making Cloud and the silverware jump. "NO YOU'RE NOT, GODDAMMIT!" The force of her voice made him take a step back. He stared - he'd never heard her swear before. She took a deep breath and said, voice quavering, "You are going to stay home and be _safe_, do you hear? I'm _not_ going to lose you like I lost your father."

Her voice broke and he felt a pang at bringing his mother to tears. But he had resolved to become the best, and no tears would sway him. "Mom, don't be so dramatic. I'm going to come back - after become a SOLDIER 1st class!"

"Do you see what's happening out there, have you listened to the news? Thousands of soldiers are dying every day and you want to go join that? You want to die with them?"

"I don't plan on dying-"

_"No one does, dammit!"_

They were both shouting now, with her pounding the table in frustration, tears pouring down her cheeks. He had a chair in a death grip with the passing thought that if she came at him, he could use it as a shield. That's how soldiers thought - always anticipating danger.

"You're not going and that's final, Cloud."

"You can't stop me! I won't be a minor anymore and the recruiter says-"

"The _recruiter?_" Her face went white at such betrayal. "Do you think he cares about you? He just wants to get paid! He doesn't care if you die or end up with your legs blown off!"

"Okay, you have to calm down!"

"Calm down? _CALM DOWN!?_" She had crossed the distance between them so fast, he didn't know she moved until she'd slapped him. He reeled back from the blow but her hands caught him, fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. She shook him in her fury, forcing him back until his shoulders hit the wall. "YOU'RE GOING OUT THERE TO DIE OR WORSE AND I'M SUPPOSED TO BE CALM?" Her voice broke again and tears fell on his face. "NO! I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN! NOT AGAIN!"

Something shattered in her eyes, like a gem struck just right. She fell to her knees and pulled him into her arms and sobbed. "Not again, Cloud! Please don't leave me. I can't lose you, too."

Stunned, he returned her hug after a moment. His face still stung from where she'd struck him but it was nothing to the pain that was like a knife in his heart; because, he knew... he was still going to leave her.

"I can't stay here, mom."

Her embrace tightened near the point of suffocation. "No no no, you can stay! You'll be safe here, you don't have to go. We'll go out more and I won't call you chocobo head anymore if that's what you want. And I'll get you whatever you want for your birthday, okay? Didn't you want a new bicycle? I'll get it for you tomorrow just please, Cloud, my Cloud, don't leave!"

Her desperate pleas made tears sting in his eyes but he gently pushed her away. "Mom, we can't afford a bike and you know it. If I join SOLDIER, I can send money back home. You won't have to do clean everyone's house and we can finally pay off the tab at McHugh's. Then there'd be money to repair the roof and fix the water heater. We need this, mom. I have to go."

" No, no no," she moaned, kissing his hands, nearly crushing them in her grip. "I don't care about money, sweety. You're worth so much more, you don't have to go."

"Yes, I do!" The pain that flashed across her face twisted the dagger of guilt lodged firmly in his heart - he hadn't meant to shout. Calmly, he said, "I can't stay here anymore. Everyone hates me, no one speaks to me, they won't even look at me if I come near. I can't get a job, not with everything... poisoned." The strange description added confusion to the pain in her eyes. He ignored it. "Even if I can get a job here, I don't want to spend my life in this town! I mean, really," exasperation crept in his voice, "Do you actually want me to spend my entire life in Nibelheim?"

For a while, she just stared at him, blue eyes dull and hopeless. Then a smile fluttered around her mouth. "You're so much like your father, you know that?" With trembling hands, she smoothed down his unruly blond spikes, which merely bounced up again. "I couldn't change his mind either. So stubborn."

"Mom..."

She shushed him by engulfing him in her arms once more. "Can't you do something else? Why, _why,_ does it have to be SOLDIER?"

_Because I don't want to be who I am anymore._

Those were the words that jumped to his tongue. They pressed against his teeth, straining to be spoken. With effort, he swallowed them - some things can only be uttered in the privacy of the mind.

Instead, he said, "There's a lot of places between here and Midgar. I might find something else. SOLDIER pays the best right now and by the time I'm out of training, the war will be over. I _did_ think about it, mom."

A quavery laugh escaped her. "You come back to me, you hear? Whatever happens, you come back home."

It was strange - there was no triumph like he expected. Only melancholy. "Well, that's the plan, mom. No one cooks like you do. And I'll write whenever I get the chance."

The hug loosened suddenly and her hands framed his face, forced him to look at her. She looked... desperate. "I want you to promise me. Promise that you'll come back home."

Even though it was a demand, Cloud didn't mind granting it. "I promise I will come back home, mom. Not like you could keep me away."

Without another word, she swept him up in her arms again and silently cried. He let her. Something told him that she needed this, that this was a moment all mothers had to go through.

All children leave home eventually - getting them to come back was the tricky part. Once that tie was cut, there were no guarantees they would find their way back home.

A simple promise would have to do.

**xXxXx**

It took him all winter to summon the courage to tell Tifa. Going to war was one thing - admitting his feelings to Tifa, something else entirely.

Given a choice between the two, he'd choose war. Every time.

War was easy. The prospect of charging into a machine-gun fire didn't phase him at all. Happened all the time in the movies - the secret was to keep moving, of course. Danger didn't scare him - in fact, he was looking forward to it. Training would be brutal and he couldn't wait to start. War didn't scare him.

But talking to girls?

That was downright terrifying.

It took him so long to muster his mettle that the snow was beginning to melt. In a few weeks, spring and the recruiter would come, and he'd be off to become a SOLDIER. He had to tell her quickly, else risk losing the opportunity.

So, by serendipity alone, when he saw Tifa's bedroom window was open to welcome the first fresh breeze of impending spring, he made his move.

Glancing around to make sure no one was near, he shuffled over to her window and said, "Hey, Tifa."

Nothing.

He cleared his throat and said, a little louder, "Tifa!"

The wind ruffled the curtains, but that was all.

Muttering darkly to himself, he looked around for something to throw against her window pane. That's how it worked in the movies, at least. It looked stupid as hell, but he wasn't going to stand here and shout at her window like a jackass. That's just embarrassing.

He was idly wondering if a pine cone would be less cliche than a pebble when he heard a sharp whistle. Eyes snapping up, he saw Tifa leaning out of her window, grinning. "What's up, Cloud?"

Those winter months were well spent - he barely had time to panic when his mouth opened and words spilled out. "Meet me at the well tonight. I want to talk to you."

She looked surprised, then shrugged. "Okay."

With a curt nod, he turned and strode back to his house, hoping he looked cool. Just once, he wanted to be _suave._

Then he stopped, confusion scrawled on his face. _This isn't my house..._ It was the convenience store. He'd walked right past his own front door. He fought the urge to rub the back of his reddening neck and calmly walked inside as if that had been his intent all along. It took him twenty minutes to summon the courage to bolt for his house, with McHugh shooting him strange looks all the while.

He'd take a war _any _day.

**xXxXx**

The night sky was incredible. The pearly dust of the Milky Way, studded with jewel-bright stars, was truly amazing. In the rarefied mountain air, the stars barely twinkled; they just floated in the black, glistening. Odd that he never really appreciated it before. Perhaps, came the bitter thought, he was only appreciating it now so that he would have one good memory of this night.

He'd been waiting at the well over two hours for Tifa at their rendezvous. Sitting on the platform, feet swinging beneath him, he stared at the stars and cursed his stupidity. In what world did he ever think Tifa would deign to meet the town reject because of a random invitation? What grand delusion had he been entertaining that Tifa Lockhart would even _want_ to see him?

Why didn't he think to bring a jacket when he knew it got cold at night?

_Idiot_, he thought.

"Sorry I'm late."

He jumped as Tifa's voice materialized behind him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to see Tifa smile as she came over and sat down next to him. Not sure what to say, he merely bobbed his head at her. Silence stretched between them.

Tifa delicately cleared her throat. "You said you wanted to talk to me?"

He nodded. Why did his mouth have to be so dry? "Come this spring... I'm leaving for Midgar."

Her reaction, though hardly uplifting, was pretty much what he'd expected. Frowning slightly, she studied her shoes as the swung back and forth below her. "All the boys are leaving town."

"But I'm different from all of them. I'm not just going to find a job!" It sounded defensive but he didn't care. It was a truth he'd often repeated to himself over the years and he would _not_ be grouped in with the rest of the miscreants.

He stood, anxiously running his hands through his hair. Tifa was still looking away, so he knelt on the narrow ledge, facing her. "I want to join SOLDIER. I'm going to be the best there is, just like Sephiroth."

Tifa looked up at him, her lower lip tucked under her teeth nervously. "Sephiroth... the great Sephiroth..." she murmured.

What did she mean by that? Was she impressed? Scared? Worried? Trying not to laugh? Suddenly, he felt very, very awkward. He had to escape that amber gaze. Rising, he walked around to the back of the well and climbed the second ladder so he stood on top of the tank that held hundreds of gallons of water.

"Isn't it hard to join SOLDIER?" Tifa asked.

He nodded - his head felt clearer with distance between them. On the same token, every fiber of his body screamed to go back. "I probably won't be able to come back to this town for a while." Hey, that actually sounded pretty cool and confident. He felt better about himself.

At the edge of his vision, he saw Tifa raise a hand to her face and her shoulders jerked.

He leaned forward, thinking he'd missed something she'd said. "Huh?"

"Will you be in the newspapers if you do well?"

Such a simple question made his ego soar. That meant she was interested in what happened to him, right? She'd be keeping tabs on him! Sounding much more calm and level than he actually felt, he said, "I'll try."

They were silent for a little while. The stars really were beautiful.

"Hey," Tifa chimed, "Why don't we make a promise?"

_What?_

"Umm, if you get really famous and I'm ever in a bind... you come and save me, all right?"

"What?" Did he say that aloud? Crap.

"Whenever I'm in trouble, my hero will come and rescue me," Tifa explained, warming to the idea. "I want to experience that at least once."

This wasn't what he'd expected. He'd expected surprise or awe at the idea of going off to join the most elite military unit. Shock or worry - maybe even tears - had been anticipated. But this? This was something different. . She was telling him something, he just knew it, but it was coming at him too fast to wrap his head around it.

So, with all the poise of a SOLDIER candidate, he said, "What?"

Tifa's kicking stopped and she shot him a commanding look. "Come on! Promise me!

"All right... I promise."

Not what he expected but... it would have to do.

**xXxXx**

A few weeks later, he left Nibelheim for the first time in his life. Four others - two boys older than him and two men, none of whom Cloud knew - were going to seek their fortune in war. They had to sit in the back of the rickety pick-up, their packs providing makeshift seats.

His mother was sobbing. Some kindly neighbors were quietly trying to soothe her with no success. All winter she'd persuaded, cajoled, threatened, pleaded, _begged_ him to stay, right up until the recruiter drove into town. It hurt, leaving her like that, but the thought of spending one more day in Nibelheim made his stomach roll. Though it hurt, he had a deep feeling - call it a premonition - that leaving for SOLDIER would completely change his life. No more skulking around, no more dirty looks to be endured.

No more _fading._

That feeling had been so strong, so adamantly unchanging, Cloud had endured all his mother's attempts to persuade him from leaving. He had made his decision and he would not be dissuaded.

That morning, when she came into his room and found him packing, she just stared at him for a long moment, tears glimmering in her eyes. Then, in total silence, she helped him pack.

The first spring rain began to fall as Cloud threw his pack into the pick-up bed. One of the older boys gave him a hand up. The entire town had turned out to see off their four would-be heroes, silent and grim but for the sobs of wives and mothers. They'd already said their goodbyes.

The truck coughed a few times, then wheezed to a stuttering life. The transmission groaned and rattled before the gears caught and the truck began to move. Despite the rain, everyone stood and watched as four of their own left home.

For a moment, Cloud fancied he could see the concern and worry hovering about them, just lingering on the edge of visibility. Concern and worry and fear coiled about them. The familiar faces blurred as a silent prayers and desperate wishes spun a gray shroud around them, like a fog. The fog of war.

Then he blinked and it was gone.

It was probably just the rain.

Swaying side to side as the pick-up trundled down the uneven road, Cloud watched his home dwindle away. Just before the silent crowd had vanished from sight, he made a promise to himself, a reckless promise. He didn't say it out loud or even form it into words in his mind - it was too encompassing to be articulated, even in private. It didn't really qualify as just a promise because it was partly a motivation. It didn't really qualify as a goal because it was partly a declaration.

Part promise, part incentive - part wish.

_When I come back, I will not be the same as I was. When I come back, everything will change._

Fate has a way of twisting wishes.

His mother told him so.


	13. I Wrote You A Letter

_(Author's Note: Remember how I said earlier that I had written ahead a few chapters? Well this is one of them! I sat on it for a while so everyone can have something to read halfway through the month, to prolong the enjoyment, in a way. I really had fun with this one! One of my dear readers actually guessed the nature of this chapter ahead of time, so _Anatherin_ gets a cookie!  
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_Everyone say "Hi, Zack!")_

**...I Wrote You A Letter**

Like any well-adjusted person, there were many things Cloud regretted about himself. There were many things he would love to change and spend many an hour longingly imagining about how much nicer things would be.

For example, he was too shy. He was very much aware of just how shy he was and how infuriating it could be. He just couldn't help it. Whenever a pretty girl - especially one pretty girl in particular - came up to him, he would just clam up. He didn't know how or why but he could feel it, like a suffocating tide creeping around him and stuffing his mouth with dry cotton. At times, the shyness felt like an iron curtain that dropped with startling swiftness between him and the rest of the world, too tall and thick for him to ever hope of shouting over.

He also couldn't hide his emotions very well. His mother could always read him like an open book, as could Tifa, and now Zack was the same. Sure, Cloud could stop at a door, take a deep, calming breath, carefully set his features into a blank, neutral mask, but the second he stepped through that doorway, Zack would instantly know he'd been having a bad day, or had been denied a promotion. It wasn't fair, darn it. It seemed like every person out there could convincingly decieve others at least to some degree but it was a skill that constantly eluded him.

There were other things that Cloud would like to change about himself, of course. For example, he wished his hair wasn't quite so noticeable. Being dubbed the 'chocobo' of the garrison was _not_ amusing. His eyebrows looked evil. He never tanned, he only reached a well-done bacon crisp. And if he could just grow another five inches taller, that'd be a dream come true.

But at the moment, while he sat in his quarters with Zack haranguing him, the thing he most regretted about himself was the inability to know when to keep his everlasting mouth _shut._

"Come on, dude, it's easy!" Zack said for the millionth time. "Just pick up the phone and call her. Tell her how you feel, it's a lot easier and you'll feel better when you get it done and over with. Better than sitting here moping about her all the time, right?"

Cloud sighed and said for the millionth time, "It isn't that easy, Zack."

"Why not?"

Cloud began to shrug, evading the answer as he always did, then stopped himself. Shrugging and evading hadn't gotten Zack to leave. If anything, it made him more persistent and Cloud just wanted to enjoy a little quiet time after a long day of marching. Much as he loved Zack as a best friend, he just couldn't fathom where he got all that energy from. So Cloud tried a different tack.

"I just... I don't sound natural over the phone. It feels weird." This much was true - Nibelheim had been a very small town and why use a phone when a brisk walk through seven feet of snow to your neighbor's house was faster and not impeded by a downed phone line?

Zack's eyes brightened with understanding. "Ah, you start mumbling and stuff? Really long, awkward silences?"

Cloud thought about that. He mumbled a lot when speaking to anyone. And there were always really awkward silences when he talked to Tifa in particular. Even though he'd never really talked to her over the phone, it was a fair bet he'd just do the same thing. He nodded. "Yeah. It sounds fine in my head but when I try to say anything..." He sighed. "It just comes out weird."

Zack hummed, staring at the floor, one foot tapping out a rapid beat. Cloud suppressed another weary sigh. That was Zack's thinking pose, something he only used when he was really adamant about something and wouldn't leave off.

Oh sweet Gaia, why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut about Tifa? It'd seemed innocent enough at the time when Zack realized he was always talking about this flower girl he met and Cloud never contributed about his own relationships. Long story short, Zack had kept asking and Cloud didn't think it would do any harm and now here he was, being forced by his best friend into talking to the girl of his dreams when he had no idea what to say or do.

In all honesty, Cloud was beginning to panic. Zack had easily explained away all the excuses Cloud had told himself - and believed - over the years to avoid the matter. He was running out of reasons not to follow through with it and he knew he'd melt into a puddle of embarrassment should the call happen.

And Zack, being the ever so helpful, considerate, ladies' man extraordinaire and Cloud's best friend, had taken Cloud's demure attitude as a personal challenge. As far as Zack was concerned, he was the master of wooing and Cloud was his spiky-headed little apprentice. While the sentiment was appreciated, Cloud knew no amount of advice could help him. Of course, that didn't stop Zack, who exuberantly began to give out his professional opinion and secret techniques with glee.

If Cloud didn't know better, he'd have said Zack enjoyed playing matchmaker.

Thus, Cloud was still enduring his lesson About Girls and How To Talk To Them. The past two hours had been wearying and Cloud didn't believe a fraction of what Zack kept repeating.

Talking to the girl you loved couldn't possibly be just as simple as mustering the courage to tell her how you felt. No, Cloud didn't trust that logic one bit. It was so simple it immediately made him suspicious. There was way too much that could go wrong and besides, actions speak louder than words, right? Well, here he was, going to war to prove he loved her. That sounded like a sure bet of showing a girl how one felt.

Except... he wasn't exactly sure she knew that...

Gah, you see? Zack kept turning it around on him, and pushing him to call Tifa. Cloud knew that would be a disaster if that happened. Just thinking about her in Nibelheim made his stomach turn to water. She always had that effect on him, even thousands of miles away. Cloud sighed and leaned back on his bed, letting his head rest against the back wall as he sank into his favorite pastime - thinking about Tifa.

Yeah, if he called her, he'd probably be interrupting her. She was never a person to sit idle for long; it made her go stir crazy. But it'd be mid winter over in Nibelheim and he knew she liked to read a book on snowy, frigid days. That's probably what she's doing right now.

He could see it right now, down to every perfect detail. Tifa would probably be sitting on the couch near the fire, a heavy blanket thrown over her legs - her long, pale, perfect legs that made his palms itch whenever he saw them, and he knew the only way to stop that maddening tingle would be to run his hands down that creamy length of skin. She probably had some hot chocolate on the table next to her, the kind with marshmallows, and every time she took a sip, it'd leave a little white on her lip she'd have to lick off. While she read, she'd play with a bit of her hair, too; he knew because he watched her often enough. Just one long strand of that dark, midnight hair would be coiled around one finger, then she'd pull it straight and coil it around her finger again, over and over and over-

"-to her."

"What?" Cloud snapped out of his reverie.

"I said you could always write to her," Zack said.

"What. You mean a letter?"

"No, I mean a poem or maybe a song and some of the guys can record it and we'll get a big-shot DJ to play it on the radio - of course a freaking letter, you ass, what else?" Zack leveled him with a sardonic look and Cloud grimaced. Okay yeah, he'd deserved that one.

However, the idea did merit some thought. It sure beat calling her, and the process was long and boring enough that Zack would leave him alone about it, out of sheer boredom. However...

"What would I write about?"

"Shit, I dunno. Write about training. Missions, what you do every day, funny stories. Write about your favorite coffee shop, how you wanna be back home! Write about anything!" Zack flung his hands in the air to encompass the myriad possibilities. "Chicks dig that kind of thing. Normal stuff becomes really romantic when you put it in a handwritten letter."

Cloud snorted softly. Sure, he believed _that _alright. But, if it got Zack to leave him alone...

"Hand me some paper."

"Alright, man!" Zack went rifling through the desk until he found some unlined paper and a working pen. Then, not seeming to notice that Cloud wasn't moving himself along whatsoever, he grabbed the blond and put him in the desk chair. "Remember man, just write it out naturally. The more random crap you put in there, the more they'll love it."

"Right." No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite keep the skepticism out of _that._ Cloud took up the pen and sat there with it poised above the paper. Zack waited expectantly.

Cloud gave him an irritated look. "Do you mind?"

"What? Oh. Right! Yeah, so, I'll go then. Yeah." With a lot of blustering and a bit of tricky sidestepping in the cramped quarters, Zack managed to make it to the door. There he stopped, making a great show of checking to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

"So if you need any help-"

"Good_bye_, Zack."

"Okay, alright, I'm leaving." Zack raised his hands in defeat and left the room. Just as he was about to close the door, he poked his head back in. "However, you _might_ want to keep the thing about the rash to yourself," he said loudly, his voice carrying down the hall. Just past Zack's shoulder, Cloud could see another Shinra grunt shoot them both an odd look. "Good luck!" Zack said cheerfully and closed the door. A second later, the pillow Cloud slung at him hit the door and dropped the floor, looking battered and forlorn.

"You ass!" Cloud shouted, hoping Zack heard him, knowing he probably didn't. He could hear Zack singing cheerfully on the other side, the sound fading as he walked away.

Cloud sank back into his chair, muttering dire threats under his breath. It had happened during training, a year ago! It could've happened to anybody - but of all the people there, only he'd been tossed into the patch of prickly leaves and ended up having a severe allergic reaction to it. Within an hour, he looked like a bloated purple hippo with shocking blond hair. He'd looked so ridiculous that whenever someone came by that wasn't his attending medical staff, he'd pulled the covers over his head. No one had known about it but a few of the medical staff and, of course, Zack.

The bastard.

Cloud sighed, adjusted the paper, picked up the pen and came to a sudden realization.

He had no idea what to write about.

He sighed.

He blinked at the paper a few times.

He tapped the pencil on the desk because he'd seen others do that but the sound only irritated him.

"This isn't helping," he muttered. "Think, Cloud. How do you start a letter?"

Well, that was obvious. Biting his lip with concentration, Cloud finally put pen to paper.

_Dear Tifa,_

Well, that wasn't hard. Now what?

Cloud stared at the paper. How did he begin to write down everything she meant to him? How was he supposed to detail everything she did to him without even trying? Where was he supposed to start? What chapter in his long love for her was the right place to begin?

How could he possibly put down what she meant to him in mere words, puny little things can could never hold the truth he wanted to put in them? The task before him seemed impossible. There was no way he could write out the depth and breadth of what she meant to him, of how the merest brush of her hand on his arm would devastate him for days. There were no words that could possibly convey the quiet and incredible power that, when times were particularly rough and he was sick for home, he was always soothed by thoughts of her. Thoughts and hopes that when he came home at long last, she would be there to greet him with her shy smile and a gentle hug like tender kisses on his soul.

There existed no words, no language known to man, Cloud realized, that could translate love.

But maybe he could try.

Biting his lip in concentration, Cloud bent over the paper once again. _It's been a while since I've seen you and a lot has happened. _Write about random crap, Zack had said. Well, why not? It was love of her that motivated everything he did, anyway. It was the reason why he was here. _I guess I'll start with training since I'm not sure where else to begin. The first thing they did was shave all our hair off. It felt weird at first, like my head was a lot lighter and can only imagine the jokes people will tell if I say __**that**__ out loud. It grew back fine but they make us keep it short and I'm not sure if you'll like it or not. I remember you always said my hair reminded you of a chocobo and I hope this haircut hasn't changed that..._

Hours later, Zack quietly opened the door of Cloud's room to find Cloud fast asleep, slumped over at his desk. Zack, suddenly quiet and as graceful as SOLDIER training and conditioning could make, silently padded over and grinned at the sight. Pages and pages of letters littered the desk, all covered in the narrow and precise print of Cloud's handwriting. Zack left, letting his friend sleep.

The next morning, he'd act like he'd completely forgotten about the letter idea. Cloud had always been the shy type and any prodding, friendly or not, would probably shame him into stopping the letters, and he didn't need that. Cloud was a good kid, he just needed a little encouragement and, occasionally, a swift kick in the ass. But given the chance, he would build up his own head of steam and not need any more encouragement - or boots to the ass.

The next morning, Cloud was a little suspicious when Zack seemed to have entirely forgotten about the letter and Tifa ordeal. He wasn't sure that it had really slipped Zack's mind, he'd been so adamant about it, but then it was _Zack_ he was dealing with here. That name alone could summon up buildings full of lost data. Even so, Cloud didn't relax and truly believe that Zack had forgotten everything until the third day had passed without the SOLDIER mentioning it.

Zack's instincts were good. Cloud did continue to write the letters, pouring out the small things that happened each day and with each letter, managing to put in a little bit of how he felt about Tifa, telling her in ways that were subtle and circumspect and impossibly sweet that she occupied his every thought. He hadn't sent them yet, but he knew that with each letter, the iron wall of shyness was breaking a little more and soon, very soon, he'd take the first letter to the postmaster in the barracks and send it back home.

To Tifa.

**xXxXx**

A little more than a year later, and those letters were still unsent, sitting in his backpack while Nibelheim burned. The hotel where it sat in was big and nearly as old as the mountains, and took a long time to succumb to the flames. The nylon backpack shrunk in the heat, twisting upon itself into a molten puddle, and the letters that Cloud carried everywhere with him spilled onto the floor. As the flames licked at their corners, the pages curled in on themselves, as if shrinking away from the heat. A fast enough reader could see all the heartfelt words and enjoy all the stories that Cloud had faithfully put to paper.

Every letter started with _Dear Tifa._

Every letter ended with _Love, Cloud._

A fast enough reader would also cry at the story of love that had been so cruelly cut short. Because it was obvious in the letters - it didn't come out and say it, but it was there, in between all the self-deprecating humor, all the stories and laments for a home and a girl continents away, it was there. A secret that now only the flames would ever know.

Somehow, in his impossible, quiet way, Cloud had managed to translate love.


End file.
